


Peace Treaties

by PAW_07



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Aft Ports, Bondage, Breastfeeding, Courtship, Dresses, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Feeding Pouches, Forced Upgrades, Impregnation, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mech Preg, Medical Examination, Menstruation, Molestation, Mpreg, Other, Panties, Political Alliances, Prophetic Visions, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Strap-Ons, Tentacles, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel, unable to stand Optimus being Magnus’ new favorite and likely heir, decides perhaps his best work is done off planet. Due to his political stature, he is given the position of offering peace treaties to planets and colonies that were lost behind Megatron’s regime. Sentinel quickly realizes just how messed up and perverted the universe really is. Personally, he thinks this is all Optimus’ fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Agreement

Peace can come in many forms and fashions,

And sometimes it involves a bed full of passions.

…

“Are you sure that you want to be transferred off planet, Sentinel Prime?” said Ultra Magnus from his wheel chair, eying the other with a critical gaze. Not that Sentinel judged the other’s confusion. He had basically just came out and said that he wanted to be as far away from his dream job as possible, but that was because Sentinel had accepted a hard truth recently.

Optimus Prime would be the next Magnus.

He could try to weasel his way back into the sparks of those in power all over again, but he had a feeling all his hard work and strict guidelines would fail in comparison to the Champion of Earth, the Discoverer of the Allspark and the Defeater of Megatron. He knew it was childish of him to want to run away like this, but he didn’t know if he would be able to take anymore of the Optimus favoritism. He couldn’t stand watching Optimus being _given_ all the things he had worked so hard for in the last few vorns.

It was obvious that Cybertron didn’t think much of him anymore. If he wanted to ever be anyone again, he needed to get off planet, maybe make his name on a large colony. He could not remain here … no matter how much he wanted to.

“Well, I can’t just send you _anywhere,_ Sentinel Prime, and though Quietus 3 sounds … exciting,” said the older mech as he eyed the data-pad with Sentinel’s request to go just about anywhere, “It’s way below your rank. I can’t just send someone with your rank and clearance to some secluded moon or far off colony. Your skills are better served here on Cybertron. I really do need a new Communication Head, Sentinel Prime. Are you sure you do not want that position?”

Sentinel tried to keep a straight face at the Magnus’ requested and not snort at the ridiculousness of the request. Yeah, like he would want the _cursed_ position. Perhaps if he wanted to be eyed as a possible traitor for the rest of his military career, that sounded like a great idea. After all, since Long Arm Prime had made his betrayal know that position had gone through three Primes, two Minors and previously retired and now re-retired decorated General. Most said that the position wasn’t for them when in truth it was destroying their lives. Everyone treated them like Shockwave’s reincarnation or another spy. It was no longer a trusted position and Sentinel really didn’t need any more hate sent his way.

“Though I am grateful that you would think of me for the position,” said Sentinel as he lied through his denta. “I think that you would find someone better qualified.”

By someone he obviously meant _anyone_ , but he couldn't really say that aloud.

Ultra Magnus, looking at the data-pad again, frowned. Sentinel would have never spoken that way a vorn ago. In the past he would have been rearing to go and prove himself to his planet. Now, he seemed to be turning down every offer he was given … After all, the position of Second was no longer open. Sentinel was kind of a loose piece now, needing to be placed somewhere.

“This is about Optimus Prime getting your position, isn’t it?” said the leader carefully, watching for the smallest of reactions. “He is currently more qualified that you. You may know every regulation in the book, but Optimus Prime has unmatched battle experience. Your demotion from my Second does not mean I do not value your knowledge or skills.”

 _Yeah, but it also means that you don’t trust me, that you thought that I was incompetent as a Magnus and that you’ve always liked Optimus better. Everyone always liked Optimus more than me no matter how hard I worked! You could have just punched me in the face and that would have been easier than finding Optimus taking over my office_ thought Sentinel bitterly as he told himself not to rise to the bait.

“I know that sir,” said Sentinel, keeping his most professional and emotionless tone, “But now that you have a mech of Optimus’ skills,” _and because I would rather offline than watch him take another thing I loved and worked so hard for,_ “I thought it would be best to go to one of the colonies where my skills could be better used , “ _and where I might fall into the good graces of a rich senator; I can still salvage this career. If I stay here I’m sure to lose my Elite status to Optimus as well_.

Magnus sighed and leaned back into his chair. He knew what was going on. A mech of Sentinel’s status just didn’t _ask_ to be transferred on a whim because he felt like he could be used better elsewhere. It was because he was upset and did not know how to express that to a superior. Personally, Magnus thought it was a bit childish for his older Second to be jealous of Optimus Prime, but then again they both were young. Honestly, he could just put his foot down, so to speak, and stop this childish behavior right here, but Sentinel was a rather proud mech. He didn’t need the other up and resigning on him. Despite his failure as a temporary Magnus, he had kept the military together, but he just wasn’t the right type of mech for the job. He was always meant to be an underling. If he could just get them to get along, he knew that Optimus and Sentinel would be beneficial to each other. Sentinel knew the circuit and all the games the Senators liked to play as well as the planet’s laws to keep the pushy mechs in political boundaries; he also had this charming characteristic to get what he wanted. Optimus, on the other hand, was calm and collected and righteous to a fault. He was meant to be a leader and would always try to do the right thing ... even if he had to make hard decisions. Optimus also knew that Sentinel could help him and was doing his best to get along with the other, but Sentinel … Sentinel had been keeping his distance.

“Optimus and you both have your own separate set of skills,” said Magnus slightly in irritation, in no mood for Sentinel’s political games (he really did know how to butter up to a senator). “And I would rather not lose either, but if you feel you need a little freedom Sentinel, there is one thing you can try. If you are successful, you may remain off planet working on that project. _If not_ … I will assign you as the new Communications Head and you will be cordial with Optimus Prime. Is that understood?”

Trying not to bristle at the other’s ultimatum, Sentinel slowly nodded, “Yes sir … I understand. What is the project?”

Pulling a new data-pad out of his desk, Magnus placed it before the young Prime, murmuring, “With Megatron’s army falling apart without him, we now can try to reach to the out-lands that had previously been patrolled by Decepticon forces. We wish to bring them into the common wealth if we can, but to even start that we need to get some peace treaties agreed to by these colonies and planets so we can even send over some representatives of the senate. As a military body you will show strength and will be able to defend yourself. If you remain successful, you main stay on this project as long as you want … if not…”

Nodding his head, taking the data-pad, feeling he had no choice in the matter though he didn’t want to be forced into the communication’s position, Sentinel sourly agreed, “I understand Ultra Magnus, sir. T-thank you.”

He was anything but thankful. He had to deal with some backwards colonies with no mech’s of power in them. This was the opposite of what he wanted, but then again the longer he stayed away from Cybertron, the more likely Magnus would dismiss him and his training … and over time maybe he could get what he really wanted nowadays: the good graces of an off world Senator.

He needed to be somebody's hero.

 


	2. To Tentacle or Not to Tentacle

Sentinel marched over the stony surface of the moon, cursing the defense of Orallic 9. For one, who was on the ninth incarnation of their colony, the name was obviously bad luck, and for second, who couldn't give proper a proper guidance location to land at? He was a few miles from the city's walls and knowing this lost Cybertronian colony, they probably wouldn't find him until the next day. Just talking with them through that outdated comm. signal had been bad enough. It was a communication signal back from the Great War and completely insecure!

Really, why had he agreed to this? There were … guh … organics on this planet! Why, why?!

Sighing, he knew why. He was under Ultra Magnus' heel. It wasn't that he thought the old mech was purposefully being malicious, it was just that Ultra Magnus always _thought_ he knew best, but the truth was … he didn't. So it was true that Optimus had more _real_ battle experience and was a people person. Fine, whatever. He would be Magnus then. That didn't mean Sentinel didn't want some type of lime light, some kind of recognition. He still wanted to be the _hero_. Was that so terrible? He had been named Sentinel after all, like the great-great Prime in their mostly forgot history, before the Great War, when there had been only one Prime at a time! The Carrier of the Matrix of Leadership!

He knew that was why he and Optimus had become friends in the Academy. They were named by impressionable and hopeful caretakers, wishing them greatness.

Sentinel, for one, did not want to disappoint.

Sighing at the thought, strengthening his resolve to get that treaty, Sentinel decided to make the best of it. The mayor of this lost colony of stone and _organic infested_ water was eager to start communications with Cybertron and create a peace/trading treaty of some type. What these slaggers had to trade, Sentinel didn't know and honestly didn't care. He just wanted this done as soon as possible … which was probably why he was here now, having lost the road. He was going to drive to the city itself but … he got lost in his thoughts … and apparently lost the road as well.

Cursing himself, Sentinel transformed and wondered if he should pout for a while as he looked at a shady collection of sand dunes and woody fauna.

He almost, almost, kissed the dirt when he saw the peaking of a metallic wall in the distance … across the water and sand dunes.

 _Great, water and organics_.

Irritated, but no longer so melancholy, Sentinel frowned as he tried to figure out how to huff it through the water and organic fauna. Cringing as the wind blew over the sandy beach and waved some willowy branches his way, Sentinel quickly decided that this planet's fauna was even uglier than the stuff on Earth. This planet's, _fauna or trees or whatever they were_ , were an unpleasant white color with hanging pink or silver leaves that could easily get tangled in metallic limbs. He believed Optimus would have called them flowering weeping willows if there was a close equivalent. Regardless, he didn't like them, didn't want to get near them and yet it seemed his hugest problem would be the water, a red-ish tinted water, but water nonetheless.

Well, at least he was walking on sand and not mud, the landscape like sandy beaches. He couldn't handle mud.

Baring his denta, looking left and then right to try and find easy footing, the mech grimaced and waded in. It was a little disgusting when he'd catch on underwater fauna or when a fish swam by, but he managed to keep his organic phobia overwritten by the thought of losing his little bet with the Magnus. And yet, his fear was suddenly given life once more when halfway over the sandy marsh he felt _something_ long and squishy skirt pass his leg.

He had _not_ screamed and yipped like a little femme. He had been very manly about it and merely hopped away.

“Frag … ew, ew … sooo squissshy,” whined Sentinel as he peered down at the slightly murky water looking at the redish water in a new way.

Swallowing, hating himself for not waiting for a guide, he started crossing the sandy bed with a new vigor. He just had to suck this up. He would hold out until Magnus grew bored of trying to force him to be Optimus' friend and then he could choose a position and be all he was meant to be. He'd live up the the name _Sentinel_.

… And then he tripped, falling into the water with a resounding splash.

The mech was quick to break the surface, coughing the red tinted water out of his vents. For a moment he sat there, wet and miserable, hating his lot in life. He wanted to blame Optimus for this, hate him, but what good would that do? He'd still be here in this little moat-thing, wet.

Moaning at the indignity of coming into the city sopping wet and filthy, he was about to get to his feet when suddenly he felt the same thing from earlier snake past his leg again as if purposefully touching him.

Ugghhh! That definitely felt organic.

Jumping to his feet, not wanting to find out what was in the water, he started for the shore again only to cry out as he was suddenly tripped again!

Yelling as he went face forward into the clear and yet strangely murky water, Sentinel pulled his head up and sat there for a moment steaming, glaring at the water. He might have just waved it off as nothing if he suddenly hadn't felt something rough and yet _oh so soft_ rub against his cod piece underwater, _hard_.

Yelping, tripping away and ending up on his aft, Sentinel panted as his systems purred at the touch. He ignored his interfacing system's pinging as he looked around madly for the source. True, it had been a while for him and the touch felt _oh just so purposeful,_ but it was slightly disturbing.

Swallowing, he was about to try getting back up when he felt a tug on his leg … _something red and organic was slowly creeping up and around his leg like a living rope._ At first, he tried to tug it off, only to squeak when he felt another slightly cool red tentacle start to wrap around his other leg, the first one tightening. Choking back a scream, his mind telling him he could deal with this, he nearly jumped out of his armor when he felt something press again against his cod piece.

“Frag this!” finally cried Sentinel, his cool head gone.

Trying to rise to his feet, the few red viney tentacles quickly becoming six, they wrapped around the Prime's legs like a vice causing him to yelp and fall forward. This time, his upper half at least landing in sand, Sentinel didn't know if he should be glad that there was a white tree for him to grasp onto or not.

Turning his head, not wanting to see as something tugged at his legs, he choked when he looked back and saw that there were seven red tentacle -like things wrapped around him, pressing their slightly bulbing heads at seams and actively against his cod piece as if trying to coax it open like wanting, hungry fingers.

Disgusted, he tried to pull against it, only to have the tentacles crawl up his form further and tighten around him harder.

What the frag? T-this wasn't happening. It had to be a nightmare. Why would a mere organic be touching him this way anyway? It just didn't make sense!

Keening, one of the larger tentacles rubbing hard against the blue Prime's cod piece, Sentinel barked as his engine roared suddenly, his interfacing systems onlining and begging for more, almost opening his cod piece of its own accord. There was no way _that_ was an accident. They just knew were nodes were and they were heating him up fast. Faster then he knew possible.

“Frag, frag, frag! Get off!” cried Sentinel as he threw an arm around the nearby organic tree, large enough he could barely get his arms around it. Sentinel whimpered at the loose grip as he tried to use it for leverage and pull himself out of the water only to nearly loose his grip as a tentacle found a very sensitive seam in his lower back. Those fraggen things just had to know where to press and push! Tugging at his legs once more, his engine roaring as those things actually started to reluctantly arouse his systems, another larger and white tentacle rose from the water and snaked between his thighs. Sentinel cried out as said tentacle hit a sensitive cluster near his inner thigh, his cod piece opening of its own accord.

For a moment, after the click of it sliding to the side, there was nothing except for a surprised noise from Sentinel … the tentacles thankfully stopping. Then to Sentinel’s complete horror, the large white tentacle that had pushed the final button, started to rub against the damp valve and retracted spike tip for a moment. It was almost soft and kind and Sentinel cursed himself as he felt his valve activate itself, trying to lube itself before entry.

The tentacle, as if taking that as an invitation and not hearing Sentinel's yelp of _no_ , then slid downward while it poked and prodded at the slowly wetting entrance. Then, as if it was Sentinel's first time, it slowly pushed its rounded head in and ever so patiently started to worm itself in.

Sentinel, not knowing what else to do, dug his fingers into the tree's bark as he cried out, noting for the first time that he was not the first to have clawed at this tree. He might have taken time to think that odd or important, but suddenly he was being stretched wide as the stiff white limb pushed deeper and deeper into him.

“Primus! Oh, frag, frag, frag! It's _big_. T-this can't be happening!” cried out Sentinel, not used to being on the bottom and actually very tight. Yet his shouts died short when it finally pushed in hard and deep, pressing against his carrying chamber, all the way in, hot and pulsing. Sentinel actually collapsed against the tree as he cried out in pain and surprise, especially when the thing started to _really_ move now that Sentinel was fully penetrated.

“Uhh, unnnh … uuuh,” choked Sentinel, his valve stretching and then compacting in natural reaction as the large tentacle pulled in, then out almost in a taunting manner, stretching him.

Sentinel could only pant, gritting his denta as the largest and palest tentacle went to work, strange little electric shocks running through his valve and arousing him. For the most part, he just held still tugging at this living bindings as the white tentacle shifted inside of him. Slag it all! He knew organic things were terrible! Why had he strayed from the path?! Why couldn't he wait for a guide to show up? _What the frag was that thing doing now?!_ He knew he could cry out for help, sent an emergency message, but if he couldn't handle a single organic ( _even if it was molesting him!_ ) he would next become Optimus' bitch and lap dog. The tentacle was bad enough!

He had to endure, pull away. He just had to tug free!

Before he could even begin to renew his struggles, a whine escaped Sentinel as the tentacle in his valve suddenly seemed far too thick like it had just increased in size by two. Cursing, pulling at his limbs, borderline pain pressed at the entrance of his valve. The blue mech did not want to turn his head and see what was happening.

And yet he turned his head, his vents catching as he watched wide orb-shaped things start to craw up the interior of the tentacle inside him. The nearest description he could think of was that the tentacle had swallowed a ball and was now trying to spit it up inside his valve.

He could not allow this!

The smaller, redder tentacles seemed to have other plans though, the things tugging him down tightly into the soft sand of the beach to keep him still. He struggled regardless and before he knew it, he was on his back, limbs seemingly wrapped around the tree via red tentacles, his legs spread wide and his form titled in such a manner that he couldn't help but watch _everything_ that was happening to him.

Optics going white, he barked out in pain as the pale tentacle started pushing once more at the orb-shaped fullness inside it and back down into Sentinel's valve. It had to be the size of his fist if not bigger!

Opening his mouth, ready to let out a full range scream as the bulb started to stretch his valve further and slide inward in a painful and yet strangely erotic manner, the end of a red tentacle suddenly found its own opening and slid into Sentinel's mouth before it could release another sound.

Sentinel squealed, surprised and completely grossed out as the red slimy tentacle started to mouth fuck him, silencing him and successfully distracting him as the orb was finally pushed into his squeezing entrance.

Slamming against the tree at the sudden fullness, Sentinel could only pant in quickly accelerating pleasure as the thing slowly widened him, pressing in deeper and deeper wetting his insides with its slime until he was thrashing against the tentacles that struggled to keep him. Soon, coolant tears dripping down his face, a second orb was now pressing against his valve entrance. The first orb shaped bulb meanwhile was now pressing against the entrance of his carrying chamber. _It wanted in._

Sentinel wailed against the thing in his mouth.

The entrance of the carrying chamber was even smaller then an un-penatrated valve, Sentinel never having had a mech big enough to penetrate him all the way to his carrying chamber. In fact, he only had one mech ever inside him, a drunken mistake he refused to recall. He was a femme kind of mech after all.

Not that that mattered as the pale tentacle gave a rather forceful plunge and then with a sickening wet plop that even he could hear from inside him, something squishy and round was pressed inside his carrying chamber.

Sentinel howled against the red tentacle in his mouth at the disgusting organic thing that had just been laid inside of him, only to have a louder wail escaped him as the pale tentacle seemed to become impatient and press another bulb-shaped thing into his valve. It seemed that first one was slow only to stretch him properly. Now there were three bulbs in his squeezing valve, slowly making their way up into his carrying chamber.

Thrashing his head back and forth, Sentinel jolted as another wet plop fell into his carrying chamber. He quickly lost count as one after the other was pressed into his valve, his aft wiggling and his middle feeling heavy as he was slowly filled.

Hiccuping into the red tentacle in his mouth, Sentinel looked at his middle in a collection of horror and sickening wonder as he noticed a slight swell on his belly. T-this had to be a nightmare! It had to be. Perhaps he had induced space madness in his travels here, something, anything had to be a better answer than what was currently happening because if he didn't know any better he would say that there were eggs being laid inside of him!

And yet, that thought was quickly silenced as the pale tentacle suddenly pulled out along with the red tentacle from his mouth, leaving a tingly slime behind.

Panting for a moment, noting that the pale tentacle was now falling back into those soft red waters, Sentinel almost sobbed in relief. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. And yet, his relief was short lived. He now realized for some reason, whatever stuff that had been on the red tentacle in his mouth, was now burning pleasantly down his throat and into his other systems.

He now felt _hot_ , hotter than he had ever been … especially his valve which was now just _dripping_.

Panting there, the restraints that had been holding him against the tree loosening somewhat, he whined, a small part of his mind … _wanting more_? Wanting something to plunge deep and hard and fast back into him.

 _W-what was wrong with him?!_ He needed to see a medic! He needed whatever foreign body had been pushed into him taken out! This was not the time for his interfacing units to run hot.

And yet, his legs still the only thing seriously bound, Sentinel's slowly turned to rip the two remaining red tentacles off and cease this, when a lone seemingly daring red tentacle rose out of the water, titling to and fro as if it could see. Then, as if knowing exactly where his valve was instinctually, it slowly slithered forward.

Optics widening, knowing the horror was going to happen all over again, the smaller red tentacle was now poking at his valve entrance, rubbing at the rim with all its sliminess. Yet, before Sentinel could even become disgusted, the same heat that was in his throat was now blazing on the rim of his valve as if the slime was some type of aphrodisiac. Unfortunately for the Prime, before he knew it, he had thrown his head back and _moaned_.

His systems now felt like they were on fire and he _wanted_ it, he wanted something inside of him so badly that a part of him didn't care if he had to rip a branch off of this woody organic and fuck himself with it.

Luckily, it seemed the red tentacle seemed intent on doing that very thing for him and smoothly pressed into his valve.

Sentinel let his head fall back and leaned against the tree for support, moaning, “F-frag, this is so wrong and … and ugh, frag! What was in that slime? T-there is no way this is really turning me on?!”

And yet, he almost wept for joy when another red tentacle climbed out of the red water, seeming to taunt him before it followed suit like the other tentacle, rimming Sentinel for a moment before it pressed in as well.

Vent's coughing in utopia at the feel, though he sickeningly still felt a bit denied compared to the thickness of the bulbs that had been pressed into him moments ago, he actually barked when two more red tentacles pressed out of the depths and headed for his valve. Meanwhile, the two tentacles already inside him were pumping heartily and making erotic slurping noises as he gawked at the two new masses.

Panting, spreading his legs in an inviting manner, a shaky hand went to his partially revealed spike and started to dongle it as if it were a clit, a common practice for mechs being taken to increase arousal.

Sliding up his thighs as if tasting him, leaving a thin trail of slime in their wake, the two new tentacles seemed to dance towards his entrance, intertwining with the two pumping tentacles as they went. Sentinel actually wailed as the two new heads pressed into his hole, his aft pumping now as his valve became unbearably hot.

It was now _perfect_ , four tentacles pounding into him like hot jackhammers, valve juices and slime dripping down into the white sand of the beach.

Frag, there were four of those things in him. FOUR!

What was wrong with him?!

Nothing could have made him wail and cry out for more though as he rubbed his spike tip, a part of him never wanting the slapping little things inside him to stall. But now the tentacles were getting hot, _oh so hot_ , his valve squeezing as if it knew what was coming and before he could even comprehend what was about to happen, the tentacles seemed to go stiff and _come inside him_! The hot seed or slime or whatever it was slammed into the inside of his valve shooting up into his carrying chamber as a hot mess. It was almost too much for Sentinel as he threw his head back and choked.

He, himself, came hard, his valve squeezing out as much of the juices as it could from the little red intruders.

And then, once again, there was stillness. For a moment the blue mech laid there, panting as the little red tentacles finished pressing the last of their warmth into him, slowly pulling out one at a time with a wet plopping noise.

Laying there panting, he watched almost sadly as the used tentacles pulled back into the water, one at a time.

Sighing, part of him glad that they were done, he almost wept when he watched a new set of tentacles come out of the water. F-frag? They were going to rape him again?! Not that he exactly thought of it that way. T-this was an animal after all. This was just embarrassing. If anyone ever found out-

Sentinel's thought died halfway when suddenly two new tentacles were upon him, pressing into his valve like hungry little worms. It was so quick and deep and rushed, a pained moan escaped Sentinel as he turned on his knees to crawl away.

He didn't even get to properly crawl away though when a tentacle wrapped itself around his waist pulling him back towards the water and towards three more eager tentacles. There wasn't even a nanosecond wasted when the three of them were pressing against his inner thigh trying to find his hole, jolting him as if they were electric. These tentacles were quicker this time getting deep inside him with a quick slap of juices.

Before he knew it, Sentinel was on his hands and knees taking it doggy style, the mech choking and moaning as he felt two more red tentacles pressing around his over stretched valve rim. Reaching his hand back, not knowing what else to do, his fingers counted five, _FIVE_ , tentacles already inside him, slapping hard as if they were going to explode at any moment. N-no, they were going to press seven into him! SEVEN?! He could barely take five the way it was! And yet, those red little slaggers were making him wail like a little whore-bot being take his first time. Not knowing what else to do, he found himself pumping backwards trying to get as much pleasure from this as he could before the stretching pain started. Fine, he would have them then! _All of them!_ He wanted them to just fuck him _harder_ and get this embarrassment over with!

And they did not disappoint, slowly, every so painfully slowly they pressed into him, joining their slimy brethren.

Screaming in pure pain laced ecstasy, Sentinel collapsed forward, aft in the air as he looked up at his over-stuffed valve, juices, slime and tiny bits of energon dripping down the incline of his chassis and towards his face that was now awkwardly looking up from his place in the sand. It was as if a mech had stuck their whole arm down his valve he was stretched so wide! In fact, he could already feel over-taxed systems screaming out, another orgasm coming his way. He would not withstand this one. It was going to knock him out. It was going to offline his systems from the pure unadulterated _pleasure_.

Finger's digging into the sand, a tightness forming in his valve and carrying chamber, Sentinel didn't know if he should welcome the loss of self or not … because he was sure the tentacles weren't done and a twisted part of him wanted to know just how many more they were going to push into him when he was out, while they fucked him in his sleep.

That though alone made him come, so hard he collapsed complete into the sand, a warm spray of seed being slammed into him like a freight train … and that was all he knew before the world went dark, juices dripping out of his overstuffed valve.

…

“Oh frag! I-is that him?! Was he out here all night? Frag, the treaty is dead, Tripwire, dead. Cybertron will never … Frag. What is he covered in?!”

The roar of an engine filled the area, Sentinel still stuck between being offline and coming listened as another deeper voice spoke, “Calm yourself, Router … It's just a bared valve. It's not the first you've seen like it ,especially not out here.”

There was silence for a moment, before the other squeaked, “You are not saying what I think you are saying, are you?! That he was not only out here all night, lost, but being fucked?”

One could almost hear the other frown, not that Sentinel noticed that as he moaned and slowly started to online his optics, quickly identify two mech shaped blurs standing over him. One, finally coming into focus, was smaller and obviously the thinker of the two with those microscope lenses attached to his head. Said mech knelt down without a second thought and slowly helped Sentinel sit up.

“Hey, take it slow. Sit up carefully. We have been looking for you _all night_ , Sentinel Prime.”

Sitting up with a moan, his whole form aching, Sentinel twitched when a pain slammed up his valve, the mech suddenly noting that his valve was open and dripping … slime?

With a whimper, he suddenly recalled what happened last night.

Looking at the water, the effects of the ooze having worn off, he twitch, pressing against the other as he mumbled in a haze, “The water, get me away from it … t-those things … they … they ...”

“They fragged you,” said the larger light blue mech as he shook his head, not in the mood to deal with accidental trauma. Personally, he blamed Sentinel for everything that happened to him. He not only landed in the wrong area, he didn't wait for an escort.

Sighing, the larger mech, Tripwire, grumbled, “They fucked you until you overloaded and went offline, the tentacles I mean. Don't be upset. You are not the first to have fallen in by accident, but lets just get you to the water and finish this … then I'll make Router explain.”

The smaller mech glared at the other, though anything he was about to say was likely interrupted when Sentinel doubled over, suddenly in pain, his carrying chamber seizing in agony as his valve tried to _push_ all of the sudden as if trying to press something out of his raw and overstretched valve. The strange mechs both looked at each other, cringing as Sentinel threw his head back in a choking sound.

W-what the frag now?

“ _You don't think the electric octo-eels … laid ... in him, do you?_ ” whispered Router in old Cybertronain.

Giving the other a hard frown, the other mech sighed and slowly nodded his head, “ _Yeah, yeah I do. It's that season and … I can tell you now that that tree wasn't that clawed up last time I was out here. They took him hard, just look how stretched he is. If he's been out here all night, they should be good and hatched and ready to go._ ”

“What should we … do?” said the smaller mech in current Cybertronian.

Placing an arm around Sentinel, basically taking him from the smaller bot, he started to help the peace spokesman towards to the water despite Sentinel's weak struggles, grumbling over his shoulder, “Help him push them out, of course, and then we'll get him a nice warm bed for a few days. Maybe even a medic if they stretched him a little _too_ much. He's small compared to the usual.”

“ _A-and should we tell him he helped hatch the eggs with his chamber's heat?_ ” said the other in ancient Cybertronain.

“. _.. Yes, but not right now. I don't think he wants to know about how he just did a great service to the city but heating and safely birthing our city's energy source, our octo-eels. He seemed like an over-stressed mech the way it is. I don't think he would be able to take that._ ”

“ _Well, he's going to have to, they are coming..._ ”

Sentinel, his systems still stretched and in agony, suddenly found himself in the water, leaning against the larger mech … his slightly swollen belly suddenly revealed to him though his legs and valve were complete submerged.

W-what was going on? What was happening? Was he-he pregnant? But those things were organic! There was no way-

Not that he got to question it as another pain jolted from his carrying chamber, something seeming to squirm inside of him.

“W-what's happening? What's going on!” cried Sentinel as he finally started to realize something was happening, the smaller mech kneeing between his legs and stretching him wide.

“Nothing, its completely natural on this planet,” said the thin orange mech with a grimace, feeling it best to at least calm the mech with some of the truth. “Organics, octo-eels, create energy for us and we refine it into energon. In return, over time, a symbiotic relationship formed. Their young need almost a melting heat to hatch and so … somehow _this_ started. Once a year, mechs and femmes alike will come into the marsh and bare their valves. In exchange the octo-eels, the tentacles you encountered, … uh … pleasure the volunteer while they lay their eggs and then fertilize them inside that volunteer. The next day, the volunteer then … pushes out the hatched eels. You, Sentinel Prime, are about to give birth. So to speak … but don't worry. They are nowhere near as big as a real sparkling. Most just _slip out_.”

Sentinel, unable to keep the horror off of his face, could only choke as he felt something press down and into his valve, large but not unbearably so. Then again he had no idea how stretched he got last night when they fucked his unconscious form. All he knew was that this was somehow Optimus' fault and that he had to _push_.

“Frag you, Optimus Prime! Frag you!” screamed Sentinel as he pushed, crying out, feeling something start to squirm out of him and into the red water around them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, knowing me, you guys should have known tentacles were going to be in the first chapter … and probably chapters to come. I hoped everyone loved the Sentinel torture. I have more horrible plans to come.


	3. Nothing Like Silk Panties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.
> 
> Also, Highrise's voice, to me, sounds like the business woman's voice actor from Princess Jellyfish. If you have ever watched the show, you'll know what I mean. XD

Sentinel sighed, staring down at the digi-pad, a treaty outline from Orallic 9 ready to be presented to the Senate and his Magnus. Personally, he would rather go home first than command. He was still sore from … from the _encounter_ , but he had been sent an escort and everything.

He had tried to delete the memory, but it was too engrained and marked too important to be thrown away so easily. His HUD recommended that a medic view the memory before allowing it to be deleted. Fat chance of that happening. So he had stored it away with the only two memories that could rival the encounter: Archa 7 … a losing his title as Second to Optimus.

And here came the only remaining reminder now … and Optimus was doing his best not to burst out laughing as he transformed in the docks, walking up to Sentinel and his small ship.

For a moment his mind was worried that the other Prime had found out about the humiliating encounter … but the other mech's chuckle and first words dissuaded such ideas.

“You got lost on your first mission? Really? You were lost in the swamp for almost a orn?” laughed Optimus as he offered out a hand to his old friend, clearly amused and yet welcoming as well.

Honestly, it just irritated Sentinel more. He had noticed that ever sense Optimus had been given his position as Second, that the other was trying as hard as he could to re-kindle their friendship. Probably for the political support he supposed … or shame over what had befallen Elita.

He still refused to dwell on what had happened to her … A techno-organic. I-it ... he didn't want to think about it.

Not wanting to get on Ultra Magus' bad side when he had only been planet side for a few breems, he accept the other's forearm in a sturdy clasp. He wanted to squeezed hard and scrap plating but he resisted. He told himself to just be grateful that the other, everyone in fact, thought that he had been lost for an orns time on the planet. In truth, he had laid in the foreign city's medical ward and healed, finishing the treaty as a limping idiot (though the city called it a _donation_ thankfully and babied him like a freshly popped virgin. If freshly popped virgins were public announced that is. All donators were announced in such a way much to Sentinel's inner shame).

“I got the treaty signed, didn't I?” asked Sentinel as he ended the clasp and took his arm back. Then, curt and short and just wanting to go home and ice his valve or something, he was about to say goodbye and walk around the other when Optimus stepped in front of him and stopped him, frowning.

“Come on, Sentinel. You made you point. Ultra Magnus was worried when he heard the colony had been looking for you and then the report you sent said you were stuck in the wilderness for an orn,” said Optimus with a growing frown. “What happened? Why didn't you send out a distress signal?”

Lip twitching, promising to never speak of that day, birthing included, Sentinel grumbled, “I got lost in a marsh, _it was disgusting_ , and I didn't find it worth panicking about. Now, if you excuse me, I have a report to hand in and a new one to accept.”

He then shouldered his way passed his old friend with a new resolve. He would not be Optimus' lackey as the Magnus so wanted him to be.

Optimus, meanwhile, wilted as the other walked passed. He was trying his hardest to rekindle their friendship. Not only did he need the ally, he wanted his old friend back. What became of Elita had reminded him of that much. If he let Sentinel stew … what kind of monster would he become as well?

Servo dropped to the side, Optimus found himself glad that the other had at least grasped his wrist in a friendly greeting. He figured that the other needed some more time about the loss of his position. He came back fine either way.

He just needed some more space … And maybe to get laid, Sentinel really was too up tight.

…

Sentinel frowned, watching the merchant yammer on about the femme planet over the comm. screen. He had merely asked for directions for Planet Faya and had ended up stuck in a what felt like a Joor long conversation with the scrappy merchant. He still couldn't believe that there was such a thing as a femme plant. What exactly was a femme planet? There was no way there was a whole planet of femmes … could there be?

While it was true that femmes had far more dense sparks than mechs and could carrying much easier, femme sparks generally didn't have much luck sparking each other up. For one, most would have to have the hardware for a spike added along with the machinery needed to reconstitute healing nanities into reproductive ones. Also, the heavy nature of a femme spark generally encourage pulling energy towards itself, not pressing into another spark and forcing a sparklet to break off for the carrier spark.

Not that there hadn't been femme matches with sparklings. It was just … hard.

Frowning at the thought, not really hearing what the merchant was saying, he couldn't help but ask, “And you are sure this is a planet full of femmes, right? Real, femmes? Not mechs that get curvy frames and cap their spikes, right?”

The merchant, metallic mustache scrunching up with his metallic nose, shook his head, “Don't you be getting any lecherous idea there, youngling, because then they'll be taking advantage of _you_ and not the other way around … especially if _that femme_ gets you?”

“Femme?” said Sentinel, not the least be intimidated by the thought of any femme … unless the femme was half robot-shark or something like all Decepticon femmes.

The merchant, mouth opening, was about to go on another tangent, but didn't even get another word out as the connection was suddenly scrambled. His ships system then suddenly blared that there were incoming bogies, and before he could even begin evasive maneuvers, an electrical surge slammed into his ship.

The elite soldier's vocals nearly shorting out as he was in turn hit by the charge as well. His form offline before he even hit the floor.

…

Sentinel onlined with a jolt, his systems seeming to sizzle and pop as he twitched, reaching for his shield … that was no longer there. Instead, he awoke to the feeling of something tangling around his limbs. He panicked for a moment until his optics came online and he noticed he was in a berth, tangled in soft metallic fabric. He sat up, panting for a moment, his HUD coming online and reigniting the fear of an unknown place especially since his weapons were also offline.

Frag, frag, frag!

“My,” said a husky and yet feminine voice. “You sure look tasty in that berth … little mech.”

Helm jerking to the right, Sentinel was taken aback for a moment, almost frightened as he looked at what he thought was a Decepticon Seeker. It took him a few moments of desperate panting for him to finally notice that the seeker … was a soft blue and pink and though she was large, she was a femme … and she lacked the angular Decepticon symbol. He knew, from the reports, that the fliers that did not join the war escaped to the stars like the colonies he was visiting, but reading about it and seeing it was a whole different thing.

Especially since she had to be a head taller than him.

A part of him was wondering if Cybertronains that came from this part of the universe were just made bigger and it wasn't just a Decepticon thing at all.

“M-ma’am. Uum, not to be rude, but _what the frag am I doing here?!_ ” barked Sentinel, about to get out of the comfy berth that was draped in silky-like curtains, only to stall when he felt something distinctively _missing_ from beneath the sheets … something like a cod piece.

Swallowing, shifting his legs to see if he had been taken advantage of … again … he almost sighed when he noticed that he was dry, mostly. His valve was a little wet because it had been stretched so much due to his last visit to a colony.

Fraggen tentacles.

Coming forward, sitting on the edge of the berth as if this was an everyday occurrence, the femme leaned forward as if trying to give Sentinel a full view of the size of her breast plate and their generous size. Though it was true that it wasn't the size of the metallic breast themselves that did it for most mechs, it was the thought that said femme had extra room around the spark chamber to hold a developing sparklet. It was a sign of fertility.

“Sorry about the … surprises,” she purred, her deep voice oddly alluring though she was bulkier and taller than him, a light blue hand suddenly running up and down on Sentinel's dark blue leg. The mech instinctively tugging his limb away.

“We … uh … never received a message that you were coming, Sentinel Prime of Cybertron. We attacked and captured you as is normal for mech invaders in our territory. Planet Faya then let us know that you were heading over to offer an introductory peace treaty … which we sadly did not receive. After wards, we wanted to make sure you were alright,” said the femme, still giving the Prime the once over like she was ready to pin him down and have her way with him, her pink, blue and white wings twitching with what could only be described as excitement. “My medic noticed that you were _distressed_ in that area so we had a look.”

She learned forward, her deep blue painted lips smirking almost mockingly as she leaned in and huskily whispered, “Someone stretched you _nice and wide_ , filling you to the brim until you shook with pleasure, didn't they? You are a mech who knows his pleasures, don't you?”

Sentinel, his equipment twitching due to her general vicinity, could only swallow as he tried to get back on track with the large femme.

“W-well, miss. Sorry to hear about the confusion, but what do you mean an introductory peace treat that you did not receive? The message and meeting time was sent to the entire planet of Faya … unless this is not Faya,” said Sentinel, prying for answers.

“Oh, you are above Faya alright, but what of the outer ring? The small surrounding seeker moons of Faya? We are separate, you know. Are we not worthy of Cybertron's, _your_ , attentions?” she asked, a bit of bite in her vocals as her optics dimmed in what had to be a threat.

Stumbling over his words, knowing that this could either be an opportunity or a catastrophe, Sentinel choked, “Apologies, we were not aware that t-the small moons were a separate colony. I-I can have a treaty written up for you, of course.”

Frowning for the first time, her long elegant fingers stalling for a moment, she sighed, wings falling back, “Written up? That's all? No show of loyalty? No show of promise? Just, some pretty words?”

Swallowing, not knowing what to say, he mumbled, “Well … Cybertron wants a treaty? Why else would I be here? … I don't know what else to offer.”

Throwing her head back, Sentinel noting the tiara like helm she possessed for a moment and how lovely her face really was for such a bulky frame, the femme laughed and patted the younger mech on the leg as she purred, “Oh sweet-spark, of course we will sign a treaty … but you must meet us half way you see. You must show your willingness to share our traditions thus creating a bridge.”

“... A bridge?” said Sentinel, looking around the room slightly for his missing cod piece because at this this rate he was really starting to get arouse by her _closeness_.

“Yes, a physical show of partnership,” she chuckled, pulling herself farther onto the berth, curling towards him somewhat, allowing her curves to be expressed completely to the young mech. “Generally, there would be an arranged bonding.”

Sentinel's vents stuttered. W-what? An arranged what?! He was too young for that.

“ _Buuuut_ … nowadays a show of intimacy in ceremonial garb is acceptable enough. A show of trust and willingness if you will.”

A part of him knowing what she was going to say, but at the same time still not able to believe it, he murmured, “And by intimacy you mean?”

“Fragging, sweet-spark. We frag … and if its acceptable and follows traditions, I will look over Cybertron's offered treaty. After all, I was dubbed Queen of Seekers for a reason, but you can call me Highrise.”

…

“I-I don't feel comfortable w-with this-this thing. I cant transform with these on and they are binding and weird and t-the fabric panty things are no real replacement for a cod piece. When am I going to get it back by the way?” finally growled Sentinel, the mech squeaking a second later when the equivalent of a corset was tugged around him. Now, for human women it was to alter the shape. For ancient transformers … it was a way to show submissiveness, a lack of defense because the wearer could not transform and get away. It was an ultimate show of trust to whoever they were presenting themselves to.

Not that Sentinel knew that.

The two fliers, both beautiful helicopter femmes of soft colors like yellow and gold, highlighted in whites and opal like a pair of handmaids, ignored the mech's whimperings as they finished with the alignment of metallic skirt over his peticoats. They both stood up and stepped back, looking at the mech's decorative clothing and glimmering headdress and accessories. He was lovely … except for the frown that refused to leave his face.

“Now, Master Sentinel Prime. You must stop frowning. It is ruining all the lovely golden temporary paintwork we put on your lips and face,” said one of the femmes, her soft glittering white helicopter blades twitching in slight annoyance.

Sentinel merely frowned harder, grumbling, “I just want my cod piece? Is that so much to ask? I put on the stupid dress-thing, headdress, jewelry and the paint. I still don't know what that has to do with tradition, but is my cod piece so much to ask for?”

The two femmes looked at each other, the other femme shaking her head slightly, her own golden jewelry on her head jingling, “No, I'm sorry. Tradition dictates that the equipment be … bare … a show of openness and willingness to the partner.”

Frowning, hating how that sounded like the femme would be the dominate partner in this fragging, he sighed through his vents and grumbled, “What now? And how can I even frag with this, this dress thing on?”

“You will manage. Now, Master Sentinel Prime … we must bind you. You must show openness and willingness and trust. You must allow Highrise to dominate you,” said the first handmaiden, not even missing a beat as she pulled out red silky rope, showing it to the blue mech as if it were nothing. Sentinel, beside himself, balked.

True, he had jumped on the opportunity to have a good frag, a pretty femme bouncing on his spike as he spilled in her again and again. He even accepted the stupid outfit for the opportunity. He just wanted someone to mind his spike after … the swamp incident. His masculinity had truly suffered even though he would never admit it, especially since no on was supposed to know.

“D-dominate?” he whispered, having never been in such a position but once … the first time his valve was taken … and the swamp incident he refused to recall completely.

“Yes, now, lets head into the next room and to the dais,” said the femmes each offering him a hand as the other opened the double doors, revealing a strange looking fabric berth that looked like it would be perfect to fuck someone on with its raised end and curved dips and curves. “It will take but a moment.”

Allowing the femmes to each take a arm, the mech now not so sure of himself, he allowed them to lead him to the chair. He only sat down with their gentle encouragement, his skirt spreading out elegantly around him as he sat awkwardly down. He only jerked away once as the femmes reached forward to start binding his arms and legs. He wanted to fight with all he had. He wanted to strike out, but … he wanted to be someone's hero again. He wanted to be appreciated and publicly loved again, not glared at as he walked down the street.

He knew he had fragged up as Magnus, but he hadn’t been there long. He hadn't even been upgraded and made an official Magnus. He could have done it.

Not that he would ever have the chance again. That title, Magnus, now belonged to Optimus and he could not watch what he had wanted so much being given to the slagger. It ached too much and a part of him wanted to prove Ultra Magnus wrong. He could do this … he could handle a little rope and … and was that a ball gag? Wait!

Before he could even say anything though, the decorative detachable ball and gag was in his mouth and he was gently bound, little cuffs attached to his ropes so it could be bound anywhere on the berth.

Swallowing his worry, knowing that though this was going to be all types of weird, he just wiggled. At least he would get a good frag. It had been so long … as much as it pained him to admit it. After Elita's not-death … it had been hard for him.

This would be good for him.

Right?

He didn't even have a doubt in his mind when he saw his partner though, lovely and pristine, stepping into the room like a living stray of light.

He had never really thought of it until this very day, at this very moment, but wings were _fraggen sexy_. Her's were draped in a soft mesh like see-through glittery fabric that made it look like she was trailing a wedding vial which was compliment by golden paint. Where he had found his paint annoying, he couldn't help but note that her's was erotic. Every line seemed to somehow be hinting to the treasure of the night … her very open cod piece, valve delicately decorated with a golden piercing.

Beside himself telling himself to enjoy this and take his time, he felt his little soldier start to perk up under his petticoats as she made her way to him, her metallic hips and wings swinging slightly as she walk up to him, a coy grin on her painted face.

“Frag … that dress is almost sexier than if you were fully bared to me, Sentinel. What isn't showing is almost mocking me, but I don't know about you … but I'm getting wet at the thought and ready for business.”

He moaned into the decorative gag as the seeker came near, his mouth held open in an ‘o’ shape. He hated the thing already and found no use in it considering his partner was a femme, but if it was ceremonial … he didn’t care. He could only shiver as the husky femme slowly circled him and his form, stalling to admire him for a moment.

“That really is you color, that starlight blue and white dress. You are lovely, sweet-spark,” she murmured, the Prime flushing at the thought of the dress he had been basically forced into wearing with its huge petticoats that dragged to the floor. His partner, for whatever reason, barely had more than the veils and jewelry on her.

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” she chuckled, coming closer to him as she slowly stared to run a hand over his aft, the fabric rubbing slightly against the bared interface relay. He still had no idea why a silky pair of panty-things were given to him, yet he could not have his cod piece back. “I know you are wearing your sexy panties … only naughty femmes wear their sexy panties on a first date. Perhaps I'll take them off with my denta.”

Sentinel flushed again, stuck somewhere between rage and … arousal. He knew he shouldn’t be turned on by the freaky red thing, but it was slowly getting soaked by his valve regardless not to mention uncomfortable as his spike pressed against the silky prison. Then again, she was so good looking it wasn’t hard not to be turned on by whatever she said.

“Generally, I’m not that kind of femme, but I’d hate to disappoint you after going through all the trouble to getting dolled up for me and this ceremony, “ she purred, her dirty talk making the Prime get a little harder.

“Besides, it would show bad taste to not finish … a peace treaty,” she then leaning in against his back and huskily whispered into his audio before she nipped it. “Shall we … finalize our document? Even Megatron wouldn’t finalize his.”

Sentinel, a bit confused as to why Megatron had refused to have this, didn't get to think it over when the femme was suddenly between his legs on the sex chair he was seated on, he almost lurched when the femme stuck one of her long knowing fingers under his petticoats and reached towards his spike. Sentinel was completely hard within an instant, shivering in his still loose restraints as the femme wrapped a hand around the tool as if feeling how big it was. Sentinel, even in a dress, couldn’t wait for that femme to bend over and let him show her just how well he could use said tool as well. Yet, as he imagined pounding into the bulky femme, the illusion quickly died as the femme started chuckling, her next words almost devastating.

“Oh my … he’s a cute tiny thing, isn’t he? Already for war … but not skilled enough to go,” she chuckled, loving the heart fallen look that came over the gagged mech’s face. “Now, lets have a feel of the real treasure.”

Hand petting the spike once more through the silky panties, her hand moved downward under the skirts and to the spot right above Sentinel's valve where she took two lazy fingers and felt around the edge of his hole through his pantie, her fingers dipping in slightly and making Sentinel squeal slightly in surprise.

W-why was she touching his valve? As a femme she wanted a spike. What else could she want?

“Oh, my … I can't wait to dig in,” she joked, standing there a moment, petticoats semi-wrapping around her as she leaned into Sentinel's chassis as she petted a shoulder, one hand still below the petticoats just rubbing in a big lazy circle around the port. Then, smirking like the Chesire cat, she hummed and slowly started to shimmy down … and under Sentinel's petticoats. The blue mech could only protest with a muffled cry of surprise as the femme's helm disappeared underneath the soft blue and white dress, his legs spread wider as a warm breath ran over his barely covered equipment.

He couldn't help but buck in worry and sensitivity as a pair of denta kept their promise and started to pull off his panties with her denta, the femme giggling the whole time until there was suddenly a hand raising from under the tent of his petticoats … a red pair of panties thrown at his face. He didn't even have time to be disgusted at the wet spoke in the valve area of the discarded clothing when suddenly a warm sweet mouth was kissing his equipment.

He bucked, almost thanking Primus that his growing suspicions were wrong. She was nibbling and kissing his spike as if wondering how to take it into her mouth. Then after what felt like a joor of taunting, those lovely lips of hers were falling over his spike, almost hungry noises coming from beneath his petticoats.

Not knowing what else to do, part of him hating the dress since it was hiding such a delicious sight. Instead, he lifted up his free legs and wrapped them around the femme neck and back, falling back onto his arms so he could let his head just fall back and moan. Here he thought things were going to be weird but right now it was just enjoyable. He could feel her large mouth practically taking in his whole length, oral fluids dripping down the base of his spike and towards his twitching hole.

It wasn't until he heard the pop of a mouth being pulled off of his tool that he onlined his optics and realized his two handmaidens were now on either side of the two lovers, each a chest in hand which was on top of a decorative meta pillow.

A pink and blue head rising from below his petticoats. Highrise chuckled, licking her metallic lip before admitting, “Ah yes, thank you. I was getting caught up with myself, wasn't I? I almost forgot to put the milker on. No need to waste suck a wondrous _donation_.”

Sentinel, too busy panting to truly digest what was being said, watching in growing confusion as the smaller box was open and a see-through plastic-like bulb attacked to a long circular slit was taken out and offered to his lover of the evening. Highrise merely thanked the femme as she stepped away, turning back to the panting mech, his spike so hard it felt like stone.

Petticoats raised high, a part of him wondering if it was some kind of toy, he watched in a hazy confusion as she brought the strange tool towards his proud weeping member … before it was slowly slid down his spike and over his spike like a human condom, tight and constricting. For a moment he sat there, confused. The bulbous tip was too inconveniently shaped for fragging … so what was the purpose of this thing? If he didn't know any better he would say it was meant to capture his reproductive nanites and ultimately his CNA.

But … he wasn't … he wasn't even close enough to coming since she stopped suck him off? And why did she even need to collect that?

“Come now, sweet-spark. Time for those bindings to be put to work,” she purred, Sentinel suddenly squawking when he was basically picked up by the larger femme, dress dragging as he was suddenly placed in a rather .. _revealing position_ , his aft surprisingly being placed on the raised part of the berth, allowing him to straddle the strangely shaped berth while at the same time perking his aft up, allowing space for his valve to be fragged.

B-but what of his spike? Was it just supposed to hang there tight and aching?

He didn't get to even question that though as ropes were suddenly clipped to the berth, allowing wiggle room but successfully keeping him in that position for the most part. He barely had time to even look confused as the large femme giggled almost darkly as she turned to the second decorative box. She even picked it up … and presented the contents to the bound partner.

Sentinel nearly choked at the collection of _fake spikes_ , especially when the other femme returned with a decorative harness, small bells attached to it.

Oh no, no, no, no! Frag no! She was going to frag his valve?!

Running her long fingers over the toys in the chest, she pulled out the thinnest and longest of the group, a circular groove running up the entirety of the item. She actually waved it in front of the blue Prime's face as she asked, “How about this one? Its thin and loooooong. Oooh, I'm sure it would push all the way into your carrying chamber.”

Optics going wide, muffled words escaped his gag as he shook his head adamantly. Sentinel let his distaste be known.

The femme, frowning, sighed as she placed it back down and turned her attention back to the box's contents.

“You didn't have to grumble that much. That is a particularly favorite of mine,” she pouted as he pulled out another false spike. It was fat and stubby like an ice cream cone top, a mix of black and yellow like a bug. The femme actually giggling as she took her glossa and gave it a long lick, moaning as she slowly dragged her tongue all the way to the top of the tip.

She loved the look on the blue mech's face: uncertain if he was completely aroused or horrified that she wanted to stick something of that _girth_ inside of him.

Coming forward, waving it in front of the blue mech's face, she purred, “How about stinger? Its a fan favorite.”

Sentinel shook his head again, optics going almost white with their intensity.

She sighed and placed it back, showing another tool, a fair tool in size and width … though it was full of ripples and small flexible spines. A little intense, but how lovers had squirmed under its musings.

The Prime actually pressed back against his bindings, bucking on his sex chair.

The femme went through three more rejections, frowning more and more until she got to the bottom of her treasure trove, tisking as she picked up a large luscious copy of one of her favorite _donators_ :Skyfire. He was a space shuttle scientist that had been lost before even the ancient war and re-awoken to a universe he could no longer identify. He had ended up in the mech trafficking circuit, to be sold as little more than a slave. Luckily for him, his large frame, intelligence and generous tank of reproductive nanites had made him a prize to the femme planet: a breeder mech. It was the only kind of mech allowed to live on the femme planet … and he was somewhat a celebrity for his generous girth, grooves and length, especially since any femme that had ever milked him knew he blushed like a first time mech. He was absolutely adorable to say the least … much like the specimen before her.

“Well, seems we have a winner … since you rejected all the others. Don't worry, I'm sure Skyfire will be glad he could assist in this treaty,” she smirked as she slapped the flexible-like casting into her palm, a part of her loving the wide opticed look that overcame her partner. Oooh, how she was going to stretch him. This sucker did a doozy even on her.

Her two assistants, not even wasting a moment, quickly helped her push the tool into the harness, the great tool wobbling about slightly as it wapped at her inner thighs, the harness being secure so that she could thrust easily and so it would rub the gold piercing on the sensitive nub above her valve. She merely stood there with one hand on a hip, loving that her partner could not look away from the chosen toy … especially when said tool came to life now that it was secure, lighting up as if it were the real thing.

“Well, time to start the debate, shall we? We can't allow this lack of communication to continue much longer or we may reach a stand still in the treaty,” she cooed before stepping forward and suddenly pulling on the mech's bondage, forcing him tightly to his stomach on the soft sex chair, his aft suddenly higher in the air and his head further downward. He was suddenly given a full view of the femme's toy. “We wouldn't want the treaty to fall through, now would we?”

Sentinel, wiggling his aft in the air as he tried to sit back up, stalled, optics going wide. The femme was now before him, smiling as she reached for the ball in his gag, murmuring, “Hey sweet spark, how about some sweet lips and a little lube?”

Sentinel was ready to vehemently disagree with what was going on. He wanted to frag her valve … not … whatever this was!

He didn't get much more then a, “Don't you-” when the ball in his gag was removed and the head of the false spike was pushed into his open mouth. In hindsight perhaps he shouldn't have been talking when she had that thing in front of his mouth. Now look at him, the femme bucking into his mouth slightly as he gagged like he had never taken a spike into his mouth. Frag, this thing was … was big. Was this really a mold of a real mech?! What was he? A spaceship?

Offlinging his optics, deciding that this was going to happen either way and he just as well suck it up and at least enjoy the fact that the femme thought he was cute, he started to suck the spike with reluctant gusto. I-if this thing was really going to go into him, he wanted it as wet as possible.

Slurping noises now filling the room, Sentinel's head bobbing up and down, his optics offline to at least keep a little of his dignity. He actually moaned when the femme reached forward and started playing with the antennae on his helm.

“You like that spike, don't you?” she purred, the small bells on her strap now jingling slightly as she thrust forward testing. “It tastes good, doesn't it? Just look how wet you have it. It's _glistening_.”

_Yeah, because he didn't want it to hurt._

Right now honestly though didn't know if he should thank the tentacles for stretching him or not because otherwise this would have been so much worse.

Suddenly, as if bored, those large hands were both on the back of his helm and started thrusting almost violently into his throat. Sentinel quickly opened his mouth wider to keep it from hurting. She was face fucking him as if she was actually going to come in his mouth, oral fluid being thrown everywhere. It seemed to last forever when it probably only been a breem or so. Then, giving two more violent thrusts, the mech gagged she she pressed the tool as far in as it would go, holding it there for a moment as she seemed to admire his too bright optics and little choking noises.

Only when she seemed to have enough did she pull out, the toy dripping in Sentinel's own fluids.

Too busy panting, fluster and blushing, he didn't even get time to rebuke or complain before she popped the ball back into the gag, kissing him on the head as she showed the dripping tool to him, one hand pumping the fake tool up and down slightly just to show how stiff it was not to mention wet. Oral fluid was just dripping off her hand.

“Good mech, now to the dessert,” she joked as he headed to his backside, his aft raised in the air like a common whore bot.

Despite himself, despite how wrong it felt to be fragged by not only a femme but a femme wearing a rod, he wiggled his aft as she threw his petticoats up, revealing his hot mess.

Frag, what was he? A sex deprived mad mech that liked to be chained up and whipped?!

True, he had never tried that before but … but how could -

“Oh, you are positively dripping, aren't you?” came a husky and happy voice follow by a giggle. “Here I thought my big boy wasn't going to fit. Who knew a little face fucking would turn you on. You seemed a little squeamish there are first. Glad … your are rearing to go. Now to make an impact on those _foreign negotiations_.”

Skirts pulled up, making a silky shifting noise, offlined his optics and tried to ignore the feeling of those long fingers spreading him wider … the feel of something bulbous and wet suddenly bouncing against his interface relay, her false tool wiggling under his petticoats like a fat worm trying to find and fit in too small of a hole.

Oh Primus, there was no way she was going to fit. There was no way his inner capillaries were going to stretch enough!

And yet, despite the fact that he had started shaking, she started to press in.

 _Frag, frag,_ _frag_ it was still warm from his own mouth and i-it was big. Primus, _Primus_!

Sentinel jolted and whined as she slowly pressed into his depth, the femme chuckling as he thrashed somewhat actually pressing the tool a little further in causing him to thrash a little more in slight pain so it would go in deeper. Honestly, it felt like his own movements were his downfall and before he knew it he was drooling against the gag, part of him praying she was done and the whole length was inside him. He was stretched so wide. _Sooooo wide_. And this wasn't like the tentacles, they were slightly squishy and forgiving, this tool was hard like a real spike. This stretching was going to last a while.

“Oooh, my sweet-spark … done pressing into my hot spike already? I'm only halfway in? Well, I don't know about you, but I like a good _stretching,”_ she said almost wickedly before she got a good hold on his upper hips and started to press in, leaning her large frame into the strap-on and into the wet house that was Sentinel's valve, his legs shaking as she did so, fluid falling onto the chair from the slimy tool.

Sentinel was not to proud to admit that he squealed behind the gag, the sound thankfully muffled as his head jolted back, his hips trying to wiggle away as the tool went in _deeper_ and _deeper_ and _deeper_ , painfully pressing against nodes he didn't even know he had. W-what kind of monster had a spike this big?!

“That's it sparklet. Come on, hang in there, I'm almost there. Ugh, frag. You are shaking. It's good, isn't it? I remember the first time I took that spike. I couldn't walk for an orn. Come on, come on there … we … go!” she finally pressed the rest of the way in, Sentinel jolting against his restraints as the head pushed into the very top of his valve, poking at his gestation chamber.

The femme, if only to press more weight on the tiny hole that led to his inner carrying chamber, then leaned against his back, her long fingers running up and down his shivering from, dipping wherever the dress wasn't covering seams, Sentinel sobbing somewhat behind his gag at this point.

“Shush … we are there. We are there. Now, just enjoy it. Do you like how full you feel? Yes? I'm sure you do. Oh, sweet-spark I can't wait to move inside you,” she said huskily as she leaned more onto his back, the taller femme all but on top of him and ridding him like a dog in heat, her denta even nipping at his antennae for a moment.

Then, just when the pain had started to dim from the stretching, she pulled back, grabbing his hips and moving. It was like every node was hit and pressed and all so soothingly relieved of its gaping pressure and he actually moaned. He cursed himself a moment later because the femme must have taken that as a sign of pleasure and pressed back in.

He squeaked this time sobbing somewhat again, the femme's toy filling him up to the brim. Part of him sickly wondering if this was what it felt like to really give birth, but backwards. Not that he was given much thought on the subject as she moved again and again until he heard a squishing noise, fluids dribbling out of him as she pulled out most of the way.

F-frag, he was getting wet off of this?!

“Ooh, finally,” she purred, stilling for a moment as her fingers went down and felt around his overstuffed rim, smearing lubricant lazily around. “Now, the real fun starts. Time to up the pace.”

The Prime wasn't even allowed to wiggle in retort as she grabbed his hips and slammed in, causing the mech to nearly go the equivalent of crossed-eyed as his optics fizzed. She was getting a little rougher, panting as she slammed in completely and then halfway out, fluids slapping and squishing and ramming over overstretched capillaries.

Not knowing what else to do, Sentinel squealed and thrashed against the sex berth, his legs shaking, oral fluid dripping from behind his mouth gag as he cried out with each inward thrust. Before he knew it, fluid was running down everywhere in his thighs and his valve was alight in pleasure despite being sore and rammed into.

Knowing that it was coming, that there was no point in denying it, he started to meet her thrusts as best as he could, loving how full he felt. He was forgetting everything. He was forgetting all the hinted threats hanging over his head, all his failures and lost loves, his destroyed career. None of that mattered here on this berth being taken like a paid whore-bot in a pretty dress. He was not the one in control here. He had no decisions to make except one … did he want to enjoy this or not?

He was almost ashamed of how quickly he said yes mentally. He wanted to enjoy this.

Squirming his aft, his spark hammering, his carrying chamber starting to get hot and bubbly. He was now moaning in abandon, the femme slamming harder and harder into him, their thighs clanking against each other as his fluids seemed to splash everywhere from the speed, the little tight orb on his spike feeling almost magical as his metallic cock flapped back and forth bumping against their inner thighs.

F-frag, frag he was getting tight. He was going to come. H-he was going to come. Just a few more deep, deep oh so _goooood_ deep and he was … was …. fraggggg!

Squealing behind his gag, he came valve first, his spike spewing its hot juices a klick later and yet she did not let up, she just kept _slamming_ and _slamming_ and _slamming_ and _slamming_ into him coaxing another spasming for his valve as he wailed again behind his gag, drool slipping down his large chin as his inner optics rolled around madly in pleasure. And still she fucked him, panting and moaning on her own and then she finally came because of the little golden piercing on her own valve, screaming as she collapsed against his aft, panting, gripping his dress and petticoat to keep herself somewhat upright as juices dripped passed the straps over her valve and down her thigh in a gleaming mess of pleasure.

It took several breems until she was able to pull herself up, her form shivering as she slowly pulled out of Sentinel, the mech whining as the huge tool came out slowly. And finally with a _plop_ it came out fluid spewing out like a small stream from Sentinel's valve. The mech could only moan again at the hot feel of it running out of him and down his now soft spike that he couldn't retract yet since the strange bulbous item was on it. Whatever it was for, it obviously hadn't been put there to keep a mess from happening. He was covered in oral fluid and valve juices and probably a little energon from the stretching.

Highrise, still panting, merely patted him on the aft, murmuring, “Good mech, you came so hard and seeing you in such abandon … I came from your moans alone. Now, lets get those bindings off. We will … finish this agreement.”

Sentinel, his body so fuzzy and overcome and achy-good, allowed the femme to move him like a puppet as she released his bindings, helping him sit up on the berth. H-he was too breathless to do much more than gasp.

She merely smiled at him, belt still on and the fake spike alight, fluids dripping down her legs.

“It was fun sweet-spark. Come back some time,” she said as she leaned forward, allowing him to get a face full of her metallic breasts before she kissed him on the top of the helm and slowly tugged the milker from his spike. Then, standing up, she offered a digi-pad to the sexually stunned mech with a grin. “And here's the treaty. You worked hard for it and proven you trustworthiness to the the femmes of this corner of the universe. It is signed and approved since you came through.”

Giving one last smirk she turned to leave fake spike swinging as she walked, dripping on the floor. With a wave of her hand she called back as the door was opened for her exit, two handmaidens entering, “And keep the dress! That color looks good on you and … _I wouldn't mind seeing you in it again._ ”

Sentinel could only sit there, covered in his own fluids and petticoats, drool down his jaw while a gag hanged around his neck. His valve was also weeping and pressing against the soft meta-flesh of the sex berth he sat on, his spike milked for its juices for some reason he did not want to know. All he knew was that he had a signed treaty in hand, he wouldn't be able to walk for a orn and this was somehow all _Optimus Primes_ fault!

And yet for a split klick as the femmes started to help him clean up … a small part of himself said he had liked it.

Frag, what was this corner of the universe doing to him?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person and we'll leave it at that. Regardless, I had a lot of fun with this, but then again I might just love torturing Sentinel. I've never written a strong femme domination scene so I hope I pulled it off well, and though Highrise herself will not interfere personally with his life, Sentinel hasn't heard the last of her. XD


	4. Bit More Than an Upgrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Sentinel still couldn't believe it. After all of the horror of squid birth and the seeker femme that made sure he couldn't walk for an orn and whatever the fuck else had happened that he had been erasing from his memory files, he finally found a planet he liked.

A planet entirely made of femmes. Well, at least Highrise's femme-only personal made more sense now. That was all there was in this quadrant apparently, though it did leave him to question: how the planet and its moons populated themselves?

No, really, he had not seen one mech and he knew that the Allspark wasn't on this planet so it left much to question. Not that he had much time to question that. He was just glad that so far they hadn't asked him to wear one dress and that every femme here seemed to have an optic for him. There was so many flashing optics directed his way. He had a feeling that no one had an interest in his valve on this planet and he was very, very glad for that.

A pink femme with soft white lips blushed as she opened the door to the transport vehicle, the mech having landed and so far been greeted kindly and openly. It was also one of the most beautiful city he had laid optics on. If anything, he'd say it was the living incarnate of the long lost Crystal City, destroy in the ancient war. It was a city of soft metal colors like white and gold while light crystals in all forms from see-through highways to gardens covered nearly every available corner. It was breathtaking, and now he understood why the seeker femme defended it so. It was a place to be protected and admired.

It was a wonder Megatron hadn't tried harder to acquire it.

Sentinel smiled to himself as he walked into the capital building ready to meet with the All-Mother as they called her. They said she was the mother to at least three-fourths of the population apparently though where the other one-fourth came from, he had not asked. He just knew he wanted to meet this femme because, even though her valve was likely not tight, it was likely wide open and more than welcoming.

How else could she birth an entire planet (even if it was _technically_ just a small moon circling a large gas giant planet). He was sure they were exaggerating about her actually birthing everyone though.

Regardless, if she actually had open legs or not, he knew that this was one of his choices. This was one of the planets that he would like to end up on after he got out from under Ultra Magnus' thumb. He had only been there about half a groon, but he was treated with respect and looked at with a sense of awe.

He wanted that, for the rest of his days … or until he found a nice femme and settled down into partial retirement. Maybe a sparkling as well whom would then join the Autobot Academy and do great things.

Smiling as best as he could, he walked into a wide chambered room, nearly jumping out of his own armor when a sultry voice all but whispered from behind him. He turned quickly, taking in the sight of a femme of pure white. She had elegant white veils dragging behind her from attachments on a metal crown on her head.

He tried not to blush as the aging yet incredibly stunning femme stood before him, her voice airy, “So, you wish to create a treaty with our planet, Faya. Planet of the femmes.”

Sentinel smiled his award winning grin, stating in a voice that echoed around the chamber, “Well, as much as I would like to say I came only for the beautiful sights of many a fine femme in your grand city, the Magnus and Autobot Council would like a treaty to start some peaceful negotiations between your planet and the Autobot Commonwealth. I was told that I would get to meet with the All-Mother because apparently her opinion in the matter is very important.”

Smiling warmly, the mech added, “For being the mother of thousands of femmes you are quite beautiful.”

The lovely femme gave him a confused look before she covered her mouth with a silky white fan and chuckling as she waved her free hand at him. “Oh, dear. I am not the the Elder Mother. I am not so old to birth and entire population, nor do I have the schematics. My name is Astral Way and I am merely the Grand Secretariat. ”

Sentinel, immediate embarrassed, didn't even get to even apologize as the femme directed one hand towards a neighboring hallway. “Down there is the All-Mother and she, unfortunately, rarely meets with anyone that isn't one of her … daughters.”

Sentinel immediately frowned, recalling a similar conversation that had not happen very long ago which had ended with him dressed in petticoats. Personally, he had wanted to throw the dress away and never look at it again, but he knew that it was unwise to destroy a gift and risk insulting the party that gave it to him. He'd burn it when he was sure the treaty went through. Until then it was buried deep under a pile of old regulation data-pads so no one was bound to ever find it. And yet, it seemed that the escapade with the dresses was all for naught if the main planet wouldn't even bother meeting with him to start a peace negotiations.

Why had they even let him come planet side if their main ruler had no plans to look at his request?

Coming forward, the white fabric hanging off her backwards crown dragging behind like loose wings, Astral Way immediately caught onto his worries. “No, no. Do not worry young mech. You are not being turned away. We would love to have more … interactions … with the sons of Cybertron. We _really_ , _really_ , would. Its just that you have to _symbolically_ become one of her daughters. To do that she needs to birth you, and then you must feed with your sisters afterwards. Afterwards, your requests will be considered.”

Standing there a moment, horror washing down his frame, Sentinel took a frightened step back as a hand unknowingly covered his cod piece, “What?! Did you just say I had to be birthed? Is that some kind of lingo for, I don't know, being reformatted as a femme or something? Are you going to-to chop off my … my ... _No!_ No, go. I'm willing to do a lot of things, but not that. Not _that_. Good day ma'am, but I must be going.”

Looking horrified, the femme's pale hand came forward and cupped Sentinel's cod piece as if to stall his retreat, her tone soft as she petted the metal as if calming a scared petro-rabbit.

“Oh, no, no. Mother would _never_ take _that_ from you. She knows how all of her daughters would mourn the loss of a natural donater. She will not change you into a femme, but she will allow you to run through her and be calmed, soothed and healed as if you were one of her daughters. She wants you to understand like one of her children.”

Frowning, calming down with the promise that he was not being changed into a femme, the blue mech blushed when he noted she was still petting his cod piece. How had she even got over to him so fast too do so? Frag, were all femmes so forward on this planet? It was nice, but he was going to start getting hard if she didn't stop right now. There was business first, but was it rude to ask her to stop? This might just be a greeting on her planet or a form of comfort. Should he ask? Frag, his spike was starting to react.

Luckily, when he started blushing, she let go as if noticing an error, blushing herself.

“A-apologies. You are not one of our donaters and do not need to be calmed that way. Uh, generally they don't even have … covers,” said the femme, now looking down, almost glaring at the cod piece as if it had personally insulted her by even existing.

Sentinel could only stand there, his interface equipment binging to him at the thought of walking around with his cod piece off for all to see and enjoy. Now that he thought about it … a few femmes had stared at this cod piece almost in disappointment earlier. Now their glances made a lot more sense.

Frag … what was he getting into?

And what did she mean by donaters?

Swallowing, Highrise's behavior making a lot more sense, he asked carefully, “So … how does she birth me? Is it like a baptism or do I go down a slide or something?”

All Sentinel wanted was for there to be a complete and utter lack of dresses!

Giving a soft smile, Astral Way turned her attention to a gaping archway, a soft light reflecting from inside. She waved her hand towards it, her words kind, “You must enter this chamber and pass down the hall. You must not turn on your headlights nor turn back because like a real emergence, neither are available to a sparkling. Once through, on the other side, you will meet with the Grand Sisters and take nutrients with them. Then we may speak of treaties.”

Giving the white femme a nervous look, he tried to glance down the hall. He couldn't see much. There was a light right at the entrance, but then it became dark. He supposed it made sense, it was dark in the carrying chamber. There would only be light when he made it to the end. Giving the white femme one more nervous glance, Sentinel stepped forward into the hall. At first, it just seemed like a normal hall, his footsteps echoing down the path, but then it started to get darker and darker until soon he couldn't even see his own servo in front of his face.

He nearly jumped out of his own armor when he suddenly stepped into something wet on the floor.

He stood there a moment, not wanting to take another step, part of him already regretting this. There were worse fates he supposed. He was doing this for his future, to be something more than Optimus' lapdog when the other Prime became Magnus.

He wanted to be gazed upon with reverence again.

Swallow, wondering why those femmes had to be so realistic in their emergence hall, he took another step and then another. Ugh, it was warm and kind of sticky. It was also going downhill like a pool. He was probably going to get completely covered in the stuff … just like real born-sparklings. He luckily was a crafted mech and not a carried mech. Most transformers were on Cybertron given they had the Allspark's collection of proto-forms and sparks before it disappeared, but out here in the boonies … he supposed it made sense.

Cringing as he felt the warm thick fluid seeping into his hip joints, Sentinel decided to just power his way through this. He had to put up a strong jaw and march. Yet the more he marched … the higher the warm fluid got. It was starting to unnerve him. Yes, it was an energon based fluid, he could tell by the very faint light coming off it the deeper it got, but he almost wanted to turn back … Yes, he could just close his vent and walk on, but this was getting a little too real … especially when something brushed his leg.

He immediately jumped and squealed, thinking it was Orallic 9 all over again. He almost sighed when he noticed it was just a small metal bead beneath the waters, floating around like a jellyfish. Some sparkling, after being birthed, would have little small orbs of metal like this on their body. They were left over nanites that the sparkling didn't absorb. It was kind of a gross thought that the sire-mech came so much into his partner that there were left over nanites, but Sentinel doubted that was the case here. There were barely any mechs around for one. Likely, it was just little metal nutrient orbs. He had never seen a nutrient orb glow before though.

Shrugging, glad for the little bit of light, Sentinel continued to walk on, part of his mind noting that there were steadily more and more little metal orbs. Soon, they were brushing against seems and armor and even knocking into his cod piece. Not unpleasant or painful … just ticklish. Okay, a lot ticklish. And why did it keep bouncing into his cod piece?

Trying to ignore the little metallic orbs, he nearly yelped when there was a rather large ping against his cod piece. He stalled, part of him now horrified as he looked down. T-they were congregating on his cod piece like barnacles!

Before he could eve reach down to the glowing mass of metallic egg-like little collections of metal … his cod piece suddenly popped open of its own violation.

Sentinel actually cried out in surprise when the slow orbs suddenly became hurried and almost sentient, rushing into the now revealed valve.

Yelping in surprise more than pain or pleasure, Sentinel found himself reaching for his valve as if he was going to pull out the soft little collections of metal … only to stop. There were little orbs on his wrists as well … in his data access ports. F-frag. They were downloading something into him and he hadn't even noticed!

Yet, before he could properly freak out about that, he noticed that a seeming swarm of little glowing orbs was heading his way now … and likely to his valve that wouldn't close! Little fraggers. Were they sending commands to keep his cod-peice open?

Figuring he didn't want to find out, Sentinel found himself trying to run forward. The faster he tried to run though, the more orbs seemed to be attracted to him.

Before he knew it, little orb after orb was sliding into him as if they were trying to fill him … and then he felt another click.

W-was that his aft-port?

Before he could even question it, he felt little warm orbs of metallic goo start to press into that little hole as well as his port. T-this wasn't happening. He couldn't see the end of the tunnel either way and there was no way to get out of the fluid. And now … and now it was starting to feel good.

Really good.

Whimpering at the thought of being fucked by … nutrient orbs … he tried to run forward which only served to excite his valve more. He nearly went under at the sudden wave of pleasure just from moving his thighs together.

Panting, biting his lip, Sentinel looked down into the water and at his equipment. Little orbs were still floating in. S-should he try to get them out? H-he did kind of want to touch himself there now.

Looking behind himself in almost a guilty manner, Sentinel reached downward and stuck a finger near his valve. He start to swirl around, wondering how he was going to get them out only to moan as he felt the little metallic orbs push deeper inside of his carrying chamber. They now seemed to be pushing pleasantly at his inner walls as if they were melding with it … and making it bigger. Wait? What?

He didn't really get to think of where the thought had come from when suddenly he gasped at the two feelings together, his fingers in his valve and his spreading carrying chamber walls. His sight went white at the intensity as he almost came.

Ooooh, frag, those orbs were really making him sensitive down there. Well, what else should he expect for a large carrying chamber. He knew that femmes could come ten times more often with valve-gasms than a mech. Wait? Why was he thinking of his carrying chamber in terms of a femme's chamber. It wasn't that big … or-or was it?

Frag, what was happening?! He had to get those things out of him. They were downloading femme files it seemed and were doing something to his systems. Yet, as he irrationally started to move his fingers again inside himself, he couldn't help but moan and suddenly lean against of the hall's walls. F-frag that felt nice. A nice spike in him right now would be so much better thought.

Yeah, a big fat one spreading his walls.

Whimpering at his thoughts and sensitive valve, he almost came when he felt a large orb slip into his aft-port. F-frag, he now wanted something in that port as well now. Generally, aft ports were only used for releasing gas, but in some rare femmes it served as a second port so that a femme could … take two spikes at the same time. That way she could collect twice as many nanites. Though the aft-port wasn't as effective as the main port, it could still drag nanits up to the carrying chamber.

Such femmes were highly sought after by the higher noble houses for their higher fertility rates and for the tight-tight-tight pleasurable little aft ports.

Whimpering at the thought of becoming a sought after whore-bot on Cybertron, Sentinel actually cried out as the orbs in his aft all seemed to push up at the same time, hitting the ceiling to the aft port. W-wait? He wasn't getting a rear breeding aft port, was he? How was that even possible? You couldn't get upgrades for those things. They were natural.

Before he could even question those thoughts, his aft port suddenly started to hurt. A pinched feeling was occurring in his aft and pushing upward seemingly towards his carrying chamber.

H-he was getting some kind of sick upgrade, wasn't he?

Panicking again, trying to slosh forward, Sentinel didn't want to even know how this was possible. A part of him just seemed to know what was going on and was accepting it as if the software was slowly integrating with his hardware.

Steps suddenly faltering, Sentinel cried out in pain as the pinch became an all out sting. Finding himself on his knees and chin deep in energon-water, Sentinel leaned his body against a wall as he stuck his aft out somewhat and panted. It was as if his body was readying itself for something. Not knowing was else to do, just wanting to alleviate the pain somewhat, his hands went where they generally never dared go. Yet, another pain enveloping him, his carrying chamber seemed to swell inside him and press at his hips.

Whining, the mech bit his lip component and decided he had to do this before any real damage could be done. He reached a hand towards his aft-port. Slowly, lip bit so hard he was sure it was going to bleed, he start to press a lone finger into his aft port. It felt strange at first, not unpleasant or pleasurable so he pressed in deeper hoping he could pop the orbs inside him or something. Yet, before he even got up to the first knuckle, his aft seized as another painful pinch occurred, leaving Sentinel breathless.

Whining in his throat, Sentinel swallowed and pressed his finger in deeper regardless of the pain, only to have it stop as a sudden wave of pleasure overcame him from the tightness.

O-oh frag. He was sooo tight down there. H-he felt like a virgin femme touching herself for the first time. He was so tight. Beside himself, he gave an experimental wiggle. Pleasure dribbled all the way from his aft to his carrying chamber. It was almost as sensitive as his newly-walled valve. Did he want to stop this? A part of him would love two strong mechs just pounding into him at the same time.

Oooh yeah – no, no! He didn't want that. Damn programs! Where were his virus protection programs! He didn't want this! He would just be married off to a noble-mech as little more than a broodmare if anyone found out. He didn't need that, but he also knew there was no stopping this. If he could already feel pleasure from his aft to his carrying chamber … it probably meant that a line had already been established. It just needed to widen.

Sentinel actually cried out as another seemingly widening pain exploded from is aft, more orbs working in past his finger.

Biting his lip, this pain lingered and seemingly grew. It was going to be debilitating soon. H-he couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he decided that he just as wells make this bearable. Swallowing, he started to pump the finger inside his aft port, a lingering trace of pleasure suddenly coming with the pain. Whining at the intense feel of pain and pleasure, he decided he wanted more. Slowly, he started to press a second finger into his aft port, jerking and whining as he pressed his chassis into the wall. Part of his mind was now imagining that there was a big mech pushing him against the wall, taking him somewhat unwillingly as he pressed his girth into him, stretching him.

Sentinel moaned at the thought and pushed the fingers in deeper, his mind latching onto the image of a mech grabbing his hips and forcefully pushing in deeper.

Loving the feel of his fingers in his aft and the daydream thoughts that someone was taking him forcefully, Sentinel's other hand moved to his main valve. His fuzzy mind was now imagining that his imaginary lover was calling over his brother, stating that he should forcefully fuck the other hole.

Whimpering at the though of another large frame grabbing him, Sentinel whispered, “Please be gentle.” He then stuck two fingers into his main valve and started to buck. Part of him was imaging the two brothers in his mind, grunting and telling him how nice his new holes were. They were now telling him that they were enjoying stretching him out and would be filling him to the brim with cum. He whined in want and yet was disgusted with himself, part of him blaming these thoughts on the newly forming equipment … though part of him wondered if this was what he always wanted.

Pleasure now interlacing the pain of his slowly changing innards, Sentinel felt a bubbling in his valves and his carrying chamber. It was coming. It was going to be hard and strong and his spark was just fluttering in excitement. Bucking harder, Sentinel started to moan, imaging that his fake lovers were moaning as well, whispering they were about to come inside him. Sentinel purposefully started to fuck his two holes with a new vigor at the thought that two spikes were inside him, ready to come. Whining, his new equipment almost too sensitive for such abuse, Sentinel felt his spark skip … and then he came.

His optics offlined from the pleasure-pain of it, the mech falling under into the fluid as his mouth opened and he screamed soundlessly underwater. His very systems seemed to be shorting out from the pleasure as his inner walls rippled and rippled in delight until he partially passed out.

After that, he couldn't remember much, just the orbs pushing him up to the surface so he could vent. They then seemed to push him down the water drench hall like so many little glowing fish. He was sure he felt his chassis open as well, gray little orbs spilling into his open chassis. He remembered feeling a tightness in his chassy as if the orbs were placing something there as well, but it wasn't unpleasant so he didn't care. It was just _full_.

He felt full all over.

Finally, it had felt like groons later when the warm energon waters finally drifted him to the other side of the pool, light finally raining down on him. Sentinel was so disoriented from the whole pain filled pleasure-laced experience that he couldn't even move his legs. Luckily, it seemed someone knew this very thing would happen and suddenly two sets of white rune-decorated arms pulled him close. He almost felt small in their arms as two white figures fussed over him … seemingly two white glowing femmes from Primus himself.

If he had a word for it, he would have to borrow a human one: angels.

“Oh, my. All-Mother put you through the ringer, didn't she young mech? Femmes are no stranger to pain when it comes to baring new life. FeMe Sigma is no different. Unlike her other half, Victor Sigma, she wants her children to be self-reliant, not continually dependent.”

“Vector Sigma?” whispered Sentinel as he was patted dry by silky sheets. Vector Sigma was as much of a mystery as the Allspark. It wasn't really real, was it? The connection to all lives, and as it was rumored, dimensions? Did that mean the Matrix was real as well? How many of those old tales were true? And, did he just discover another one? The origin of all femmes? Was this why almost all femmes came from born lines?

Even if that theory was true … he would never say anything about it though, because then mechs would ask how he knew.

“Were you a creation of his?” continued one of the large white winged femmes as she dragged Sentinel into her arms, lying his helm onto her metallic bosom. “No, no. Looking at your spark, I would say you were a creation of the Allspark. She always had good taste. You are so handsome and just a little temperamental. Vector lacks fineness with his creations and rarely gives them such boisterous personalities. He never was very daring.”

Sentinel, his body limp, nearly lurched out of the large femme's lap with what she had said. H-his chassis was open?!

Looking down, horror overcoming him, he saw that his chassis was indeed open. It must have opened in the journey of reemergence, and now there were two … two rubber orbs next to it! They looked like rubber pouches with a single nub on each, and … and they were filling with something. W-was that energon? It was the wrong color, like light-grade energon, but either way this was bad! It was still energon! Had these unwanted upgrades damaged him? Was he bleeding out!

“Oh, look at this feeding pouches, sister,” said the femme that was still drying him off, light orange accents on her pristine-white armor. “They are going to be big. And look how ready they are. They are already filling. Should we help them along?”

The other large femme, a seeming copy of the other femme if it wasn't for the slight green accents to her form, nodded her head, “We should continue with the treaty. He has been accepted by the All-Mother, FeMe, and so as a fellow sister we must share a meal before looking at Sentinel's proposal. I will tend to his other new equipment and make sure it is clean and developed properly. It must surely be sore. You may encourage his pouches … let us not forget to fill our own either.”

Sentinel, to weak to even squirm, nearly jumped out of armor when both of the femmes chassis' suddenly sprang open. Both of the femmes seemed to have the same pouches as him … and they were rapidly feeling with the strangely colored energon as well. W-what was going on here? What were those things?

Yet, he didn't even get to slur his question when the orange-accented femme suddenly reached toward his chassis, one large hand slipping in and flicking the nubs on his own pouches. He actually whined as strange feelings filled his chest. It wasn't unpleasant … just weird. But that was nothing compared to when she reached down and started to pinch the nub, her spare hand going to her own chest and down to her own nubs. A soft moan escaped her.

Unfortunately for the Prime, this was the tip of the iceburg. The green-accented femme had reached for what looked like a small canister, dipping her fingers into something. Then, before he could even question what it was, her large hand was snaking in between his legs.

Sentinel's squeaked immediately, trying to pull away. He didn't want anyone down there! He was so sore. He didn't want anyone down there at all. Not even two beautiful femmes.

“Shh, shh. Now, now,” said the large green-accented femme. “I know your upgrades must hurt. I just want to put some endo-flesh salve on it. It will help you heal faster. Don't you want that? You want to be able to walk withing the next orn, right?”

He didn't even get to question it though when he felt the other femme pet his helm, bringing her chassis up to his face, “Yes, dear, you must be so tired. It looks like the All-Mother even went after your aft-port! Even femmes are blessed rarely with a fertile aft-port. Now, just drink deeply from my pouches and re-energize yourself. We can't have you passing out. Then, when my sister is done with your two ports, she'll suckle you. We can't have those new porches getting sore from being full too long, now can we?”

Shaking his head, not wanting any of this, he really didn't get a choice as one of those bloated pouches came to his closed lips … the other sister choosing this time to stick the salve into his aft-port. He gasped in pain and surprise, a nub suddenly in his mouth. The femme didn't waste a moment sqeezing her large pouch, energon flowing into Sentinel's mouth.

He nearly choked on it, but somehow told himself to swallow or risk sufficating.

F-frag. It was too warm and yet … good. Oh, it was good. He heard rumors that femmes somehow fed their born sparklings, but he never imagined like this. He was almost envious. Deciding to just give into this, if only for the success of the treaty, he slowly started to suckled on the older femme's feeding bags, allowing the women to fondle his own partially full ones.

He honestly didn't know if he should be enjoying this or if he should be disgusted with his new upgrades. Either way, he blamed Optimus for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know … I regret nothing. Regardless, I hadn't really been planning on body modifications happening in this story, but then this happened. Heh, it turned out I guess. It allowed me to use the ever popular 'feeding pouches' in my own fic. It also allowed me to come up with one of my own, the secondary 'aft-port' theory. I feel like such a perv writing that word. Yet I kind of want to make a tag for it now. Eh, you all wouldn't be still reading if you didn't like it anyway. XD


	5. A Medic's Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.

“You really shouldn't be up, Sentinel,” cooed the three nurses as they tried to lure him back into a huge medical berth that had served as his prison for nearly a groon. Well, perhaps prison wasn't the right word, but they basically refused to allow him to leave the berth. Instead, they just seemed to always … fondle … his newest parts, telling him they were merely checking his new additions.

He had begged the first day to have the aft port and feeding pouches removed, but the healers had been adamant that removing that equipment, those rare gifts, would void any standing Sentinel had as a child of the All Mother.

As well as his treaties.

He had went silent after that, his anger simmering like a ember that merely looked dead. It would flare though when multiple nurses would come in and check his valves, pouches and especially his spike. He might have found it enjoyable if they wouldn't stop cooing how jealous they were over his fertile aft port and if he was going to be giving more donations.

He just really kind of wanted to leave especially after Highrise (the seeker femme) came to visit, telling him she couldn't wait to try out his new additions. She even brought him the most _lovely_ congratulations gift: a fine pair of panties. She had even leaned over and whispered into his audio … that she couldn't wait to see him in them.

That had been the visit that had forced him into action. That was why he was now all but tripping out of his medical room, the femme nurses trailing after, murmuring, “Sentinel, dear, please sit back down. You're new equipment isn't done settling and we haven't even spoke with you how to take care of all of it.”

Limping faster, never wanting to see this place of femmes again (okay, maybe not _never_ ), he grumbled, “What's there to know? Don't let anyone ever know about my second valve if I can help it and don't let anyone see my feeding pouches if I can help it. Not much else to know.”

The head nurse-bot stalled as if offended. Why would he ever hide those things? Poor thing was soo _confused_ about his place in the universe. The All-Mother had given him those things so he could share them. Not hide them.

Heels clicking once more, she finally got in front of him, stalling him with a gentle hand on his wrist. She smiled sweetly. She then all but dragged him to a little sun room in a nearby room, petting his cod piece the whole time. He was going to just rip his arm free and finally snap, but his glossa stilled when he witnessed a curious creature in a nearby giant chair.

Another mech!

He hadn't even realized he had been led to the seat next to the large mech until he was a sitting, a metallic blanket being placed over his legs. The femme then patted his cod piece once more through the mesh blankets before she wandered away saying she would check on him in a little while.

For a moment the large (huge-huge-huge) mech just sat there smiling softly at him, soft blue aged optics looking at him kindly.

Sentinel was still too flabbergast to speak so the jet spoke first, offering a hand out to clasp in greeting. “The names Skyfire. I haven't seen you before. I was sure I knew all the other breeder-mechs on the planet.”

Starting at the word breeder-mech, Sentinel's expression took on a sour disposition. He had heard some femmes whisper that when they thought he wasn't around or awake. He also knew that name: _Skyfire_. So he had this mech to thank for his sore valve after a night with Highrise. He couldn't help but growl, “That's because I am not a _breeder_. I come from the Autobot Commonwealth looking to create a trade agreement with the planet. To open up peaceful negotiations if you will.”

Skyfire put up a hand, trying to placate the other. “Apologies, its just that I didn't know any-mech was allowed on planet without being a breeder, but I suppose that makes sense … you still have your cod piece and you lack a … collar.”

Suddenly feeling like a jerk, Sentinel seemed to finally note and eye the collar on the mech's neck. A part of him trying to not look at the bulge underneath the large mech's mesh blanket either. He had gotten a fake copy and squealed like a whore-bot. What would the real thing be like?

He immediately blushed and tried to shoot the idea down. Frag these femmes and their constant ministrations.

Catching Sentinel's glaze and blush, Skyfire laughed and looking down at his bulge under the blanket. He patted the bulge. “Poor thing got a strain. I was trying to please five femmes at once so I suppose its not too surprising.”

Sentinel choked, gasping, “F-five?”

Nodding, a soft expression on his face as a small femme ran by the room laughing. She was obviously a sparkling and even had the same white and red paint job as the mech before him. The larger mech suddenly looked sad though as he whispered, “Yes, for more sparklings. I need to sire as many as I can. It's my responsibility here … I have so many children and I will never know all of their names.”

There was a deep sorrow there.

Sentinel was too horrified to see that of course. “W-what? What do you mean _sire_?”

Giving the blue mech a confused look, his large engine rumbling, Skyfire stated,“Breeder here means to sire sparklings, not just the act of fragging. I'm sure that they have tired to frag you … or collect your nanites, right? Here, its never just about pleasure. The All Mother can only make so many femmes a vorn, given the density of femme sparks and how hard they are to create. And, given the femmes were eyeing your cod piece, they expect you to sire as well I suppose.”

“WHAT!” cried Sentinel, part of him now understanding why they kept … milking him. He didn't think that was possible without a spark-sharing, but nothing should surprise him after getting a fertile aft valve! Frag! No. No. NO! He wasn't ready to be a _sire!_ He had to get off of this mad-femme rock! “I-I'm not ready to be a sire! And not for multiple femmes!”

Skyfire gave him an empathetic smile. Then peeking out the door somewhat. He nodded towards the window while whispering, “Well, you can stay and frag for the rest of your days in endless pleasure with all your needs accounted for or you can take the window. They forgot to lock it when they left. It's only about a two story jump. You might break your pride a bit and maybe an ankle joint, but its better than getting a collar. You wouldn't be the first mech that _disappeared_ after visiting this planet, especially since they really seem to like you.”

Thanking the poor over-sexed mech, even with a limp, Sentinel couldn't run fast enough after he jumped out of two story window.

…

“SP … what happened to you? You okay? You look terrible, and why are you limping? And your ship looks … worse. I thought you were going to a femme colony not battle,” said Jazz as he stood in the space docks, Sentinel's ship having finally landed. It was in a bit of bad shape after being attacked by Highrise the first time.

Sentinel stalled in front of the other and frowned. He honestly didn't know what to say to that. It honestly had been like a battle. His ship was slightly damaged, he had basically ran away from crazy femmes, his aft hurt, his valve ached, his carrying chamber seemed sour, his pouches always seemed tender, and he was exhausted. He couldn't sleep enough on the trip back. It had been a battle. Frag, he was so tired he almost wanted to cry.

In fact, he wanted to cry a lot lately. No idea why. He just wanted to cry as hard as physically possible.

He didn't of course.

Much.

Okay, he cried himself to sleep last night. He didn't even know why. He had just seen Cybertron in the distance and it was so beautiful that he broke down into some kind of weird fit.

What was going on with him?!

Those femmes did something to him. That's what. He didn't know what and he was afraid to ask, especially since Highrise kept trying to hail him over and over again. He dare not ask her. And if he went to a medic here … they would have to document his new _additions_. That would probably leak out, and then he would lose his active military position to be some Senator's carrier-trophy.

Frag that shit!

Of course he said none of this to Jazz. He merely shrugged, stating, “Just a hard … treaty. You would think a planet of femmes would be great, but it's not. It realy is not. Don't ever go their Jazz.”

Jazz, without question, believed him.

…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

There was silence again, Optimus standing by the door. He frowned and hit the keypad again to Sentinel's flat, the door comming the owner once again. He sighed and looked at the time on his HUD. He had been standing here for almost a groon?!

“Come on Sentinel! Open up,” cried Optimus as he pounded on the door. “You've called in sick five joors in a row. The Magnus is worried. You came back from that femme colony an orn ago with a limp for Primus sake. He wants you to go see a medic today. Said I was to escort you. In fact, you should have been seeing a medic after every treaty you got signed. Simple decontamination isn't enough. These populations have been separate from Cybertron for a millennium. Who knows what type of virus' or diseases they have. Come on, open up.”

Silence was the only thing that greeted Optimus though he knew Sentinel was in there. After this latest treaty he had been acting … funny, stiff even, and not because of the sprained ankle joint. He seemed upset and kept looking down at this chassis like he was disturbed by something. He hadn't thought much of it at first, just thinking Sentinel was whining about his lack of buff or something.

Now, he felt terrible. His old friend had obviously been sick and he hadn't thought anything of it. He really did want to mend bridges when it came to Sentinel and him, but he didn't know what else to do. He always made sure to stop by after each treaty to ask the ex-Magnus about his trip, but it didn't seem to help.

He had lost Elita, probably forever, but Sentinel was still within reach. He could still fix this and maybe even drag Sentinel back from whatever had happened to him since he lost Elita. He had been a much better bot in his younger years. Regardless, he had to try. He just had to keep things positive. He would get through eventually. He just knew he would.

“That's it, Sentinel. I know you are in there. I am going to take out my axe and chop this door open. Then I am dragging you to a medic for a checkup. You have to the count of three,” called Optimus, his axe coming out and his battle mask sliding down. “One … two … th-”

“Okay, okay, jeeze, calm down,” came a reply through the door comm. “Don't break my fraggen door. I don't need the expense.”

Battle mask sliding away and his axe being put away, Optimus put a hand on his hip and said, “Well, you going to open the door?”

There was silence on the other end.

Sighing, Optimus pulled his axe back out and called out, “Step away from the door as I chop it down then.”

“No, no, no! Please don't. Can't you just leave? Tell the Magnus I'm fine. I just need a mini vacation or something,” whined Sentinel in a way that was more reminiscence of their days in boot camp then his more recent self centered personality traits.

Optimus frowned a little and stared at the screen. Sentinel still hadn't come into the view screen like he was purposefully hiding from the two-way camera.

“Sentinel … come to the screen,” said Optimus, crossing his arms over his chest like a demanding creator.

He could almost hear the pouting expression as Sentinel mumbled, “...Please don't make me.”

Sighing and pinching his nose-bridge piece, Optimus stated, “Open the door, Sentinel. Now. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.”

For a moment there was silence and then Sentinel whined, “You'll just laugh at me.”

“I won't laugh-”

“That's what you said last time on Earth! And you still laughed,” almost whimpered Sentinel, the other mech obviously upset.

Struggling to hold in a snort as he recalled the headmaster incident, Optimus cleared his vents to cover his chuckle as he asked, “Okay, fine. You still have to be cleared by a medic today though. So either I break down the door or, if you are really embarrassed, I suppose I can call Ratchet for a house visit.”

There was another moment of silence.

“Sentinel … axe will meet door,” said Optimus, his ped now tapping on the floor.

“I am thinking,” barked Sentinel before he sighed and looked down at the light energon dripping from behind his chassis piece … right where he was hiding his new additions. He couldn't get them to stop leaking. His valves were also acting funny. They were starting to ache and … leak as well. Or bleed to be accurate. He didn't know what was wrong with them. Had they been put in wrong? Was his form rejecting them? He didn't know. He was scared and embarrassed and had busted into tears more than once for seemingly no reason over it. Even femmes didn't cry this much!

Finally relenting, knowing that he needed help, he whispered, “Okay, call the medic … but he has to promise not to laugh.”

Rolling his optics, pulling up Ratchet's comm link, Optimus grumbled, “He's too grouchy for that. He will sooner yell at us. Now, give me a few kliks. Ratchet has the afternoon off.”

...

A few kliks passed faster than Sentinel would have liked, Ratchet transforming before the door and grumbling, “I'm here Optimus. You needed me to look over a stubborn bot?”

Optimus motioned towards the door.

Ratchet gave Optimus an irritated glance in turn and then barked, “I can't see him through the fraggen door, young-bot. Open it.”

Optimus signed, not wanting to go through this conversation again. Luckily, he didn't have to make another threat, Sentinel crying over the door comm, “He has to promise not to laugh!”

Ratchet rolled his optics, part of him now knowing why Optimus hadn't said who the patient was. It was Sentinel Prime. He would know that voice anywhere.

Sighing, his medical programs telling him he needed to help a bot regardless if he was an aft-head or not, Ratchet waved his hand in acceptance. “Yeah, yeah. I won't laugh kid. Just let me in and I'll try to make this as quick and as painless as possible.”

 _For both of us_ was left unsaid.

There was a moment of silence through the door comm, an almost meek reply coming from the blue Prime, “You promise not to let Optimus in?”

Optimus immediately looked offended, but Ratchet waved off the other young-bot, grumbling, “Yeah, yeah. Now open up. Let's have a look, okay.”

There was another moment silence and then a click, half of Sentinel's face peeking out the door to look at the two mechs. He then let Ratchet in, the door slamming in Optimus' face.

Optimus … almost pouted, but sighed in resignation before sitting down in the hall and propping himself again a wall.

Inside the room, Ratchet's optics adjusting to the semi-darkness. He looked around for a moment. It was a nice suite, probably paid for with his Magnus bonus. Regardless, he had better things to do than look at furnishings and a _strange shrine to oneself._ That wasn't egotistical _at all_ and yet there was another shrine to those dead in his family. There were two older mechs' digi-photos, likely his creators, and surprisingly … a photo of Elita.

Ratchet frowned at this. The young-bot really needed to see a counselor over that. Though it was revealing that he still thought of her as dead. Well, it was probably for the best mourning over the bot she had been instead of what she had become. And Ratchet didn't mean the half-organic thing. Her choices would always be her own.

Turning to look at the young bot, he expected blisters or rust or something of the nature, but no … he didn't look any different then usual, except his armor looked a shade paler than it should and his optics were wet. He obviously had been crying. And wait … were those energon smears on his chassis?

Medical systems immediately perking up in worry, Ratchet offered a hand to the young-bot, trying to sound comforting, “Come on, young bot. Where do you want to do an examination?”

Audio fins pressing hard again his helm, Sentinel looked away and then pointed to the main area where there was large armless couch. Nodding, Ratchet willed the young mech to follow. Soon, he had his patient sitting down and his servos cleansed. He didn't even bother with the normal questions. Whatever was wrong … obviously was right below the main chassis armor. It was probably something stupid that the young bot had done to himself and was too embarrassed to ask for help.

Sitting down next to the young bot, patting him on the knee, Ratchet said, “Come on, open up. Nothing to be embarrassed about. It must hurt if its leaking.”

Optics now leaking again, hating himself for panicking like a scared sparking, Sentinel whispered, “Please don't tell anyone, especially Optimus.”

“There's patient confidentiality, kid. I won't tell. Come now,” said Ratchet, trying to be reassuring. In the past he might have wanted to see the mech cry, but not like this. Not when he obviously was scared and terrified.

Nodding his head, Sentinel's chassis locks released, cracking the plating open. Ratchet tried not to act like he was in a hurry while knowing fingers quickly finished opening the chassis. Soon, blue light rained over the medic's form and Ratchet almost invented … in relief.

It was feeding pouches and they were trying desperately to fill. No wonder he was embarrassed and by the look of him, Sentinel didn't know what was going on, which was strange. Femmes couldn't activate theirs until after they carried and most mechs only got them as upgrades. Though some mechs naturally had them. A lot of medics actually. It was just something ingrained in their forms to take care of others. Either way, they generally had to have them manually activated and then filled by choice. Ratchet had a set himself for feeding emergencies, like for sparklings or mechs with damaged tanks, but even Ratchet hadn't had to turn his on more than once or twice.

Some femmes had even had theirs removed. Sadly, feeding pouchs had run out of favor. No idea why. It really was the best way to support a sparkling, and some mechs even fed each other or friends as a form of bonding or comfort.

Still didn't explain how Sentinel had gotten a pair or how they had turned themselves on. He was a young bot and wasn't mated with anyone. It seemed strange.

Patting that blue shoulder, Ratchet murmured, “Shh, its okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about. These look like new additions and sometimes new equipment malfunctions. I'll help you empty them and then turn them off with some simple coding so they'll stop filling. If it happens again, just know that if someone was to feed off of them, they would probably turn off on their own. Okay, kid.”

Sentinel, wiping some energon off his cheek, nodded and then hiccuped, “O-okay, but what … what about the-the other dripping?”

Frowning, his hand a few inches from touching one of the feeding pouches to see how full it was, Ratchet carefully asked, “What else is dripping?”

Blushing, not wanting to say it, Sentinel looked down at his thighs, Ratchet noticing a moment later. There was energon between those thighs. Not light pink feeding pouch energon, but the processed kind that ran through your inner tubing. That was not good. Mechs only bled like that if someone damaged them or if they damaged themselves trying to take something a little too big. There had to be heavy damage to the valve or maybe something ruptured up in the carrying chamber to have that much energon leaking from the valve though. They had been barely sitting here five kliks. This could be internal bleeding.

Frag, frag, frag! How long had he been bleeding like this too ashamed to ask for help?!

Unless … please don't say some backwater mech took advantage of this young mech? Rape cases were … they were hard to deal with for everyone involved.

Telling himself not to panic and thus cause the kid to panic in turn, Ratchet pulled out a cube of energon. He opened it and quickly dripped some pain-killer nanites into the cube. He offered it to Sentinel, stating simply, “Well, drink up then lay down. I'll take a look. Let me just turn some lights on first.”

Doing as he was told with only a sign of resignation, Ratchet quickly turned on a few lights, frowning as he watched energon dribbled onto the couch as Sentinel laid down and spread his thighs. The young-bot was nervous and … shaking? He was acting like he had never had a valve examination.

Sitting down a moment later, placing two warm hands on those knees to spread those legs further, Ratchet had to ask, “Sentinel … did … did another mech … hurt you-”

Sentinel nearly reared up, the only thing keeping him still was Rachet's hand. “What?! No, no! I am an _Elite Guard!_ No mech got down there that I didn't want down there!”

Well, it was mostly true. None of his questionably consensual partners had been mechs so far.

Ratchet sighed immediately, glad his rape theory was immediately thrown out the window. So, it was probably just stupid young mech stuff. It might even be the reason Sentinel pouches were filling. It was not entirely unheard of for newly heavy mechs or femmes to start filling like that. That only brought one question to light then? Who was the sire and had they used any fraggen lube?! Then again, it could be a miscarriage. That sometimes also activated feeding pouches. They can try to empty since their reserves are no longer needed.

Swallowing, praying he wasn't going to have to help Sentinel birth a still born on this couch, he grumbled, “Okay, lets pop that cod piece. If I can't tell the immediate cause we might have to take you in, but lets have a look first, okay?”

Releasing a vent, Sentinel offlined his optics and laid down completely. He whispered, “Please don't laugh … or tell anyone.”

Patting that knee again as if agreeing, there was a click and the cod piece slid to the side. Ratchet, at first, had to reset his optics. Just looking at it, he could see that valve had extra sensors and … was that a fertile aft port? No fraggen way? There was only a ten percent chance that femmes had one and mechs … apparently it was under one percent. Those mechs and femmes were generally paired off the moment they were old enough to successfully carry. After their first valve shedding … like … like what was happening to Sentinel right now. He could see the bits of sludge-metal coming from the valve caused by the carrying chamber finally coming fully online.

Sentinel didn't even seem to know what was happening though. Then again, there was something odd about the equipment. It looked raw, especially the aft port.

Internal scanners in his sensitive hands coming online, Ratchet mumbled, “I don't even know why your parents didn't give you breast plating, Sentinel, or just called you a femme with such … fertile equipment. In fact, I'm surprised they let you join the active Autobot Guard. Actually, why aren't you already promised to some rich highborn mech or senator? In fact, why aren't you in someone's berth right now getting ready for your first carrying? You are a bit late by the way. This should have happened vorns ago. Just what is going on with your body?”

Sentinel looked ready to cry at Ratchet's coarse words, the medic immediately feeling bad. He should have known better than to snap. Sentinel's onlining systems were probably warring against his usual personality protocols. He was probably extremely vulnerable right now.

“Now, now. Nothing's wrong with you. Sometimes these things happen late. As for the bleeding, fertile ports shed once they are fully developed. I'm honestly surprised it happened so late in you. Now, it only happens from time to time if your systems feel the carrying chamber is dirty or after carrying, like normal mech vales sometimes do. The cycles are not very common, but frightening if you weren't properly informed,” continued Ratchet as he took his fingers and used the mini scanner in them to scan the exterior of the port. “I'll get you a plug or some catcher-rags that you either put in your port or above your cod piece. Most mechs or femmes just stay home at this time so I will write you off for the rest of the orn.”

Sentinel merely nodded, swallowing loudly.

“This is going to be a little … invasive, but I'm going to do an internal scan just to make sure everything's okay,” added the medic as he suddenly … stuck two fingers in the port. It wasn't wide enough to hurt, but still wide enough that Sentinel arched slightly in sensitivity and … arousal. Ratchet pretended to ignore the later as he did a quick internal scan. Everything seemed fine and yet new. He pressed in a little deeper, his scans trying to get a better internal image, Sentinel keening as he gripped at the soft surface of the couch.

Ratchet wasn't surprised. Sometimes young mechs overloaded during exams like these, especially bleeding mechs. Not a bad thing. It helped them shed faster.

“F-frag, Ratchet. What are you doing?” whimper Sentinel, hating himself as he felt lube start to drip with the energon already in his valve. “P-please stop. It's sensitive.”

Frowning, scissoring the valve a little to test its flexibility, he pressed the fingers in a little deeper, Ratchet murmuring, “Sorry, Sentinel. Something just seemed wrong. Its as if this is all new, especially the line to the rear port. As for the lubing, don't be embarrassed. Its normal to come easily during a chamber shedding. Healthy even.”

Ratchet was about to press one finger into the rear port just to get the young mech's overload out of the way, but Sentinel twitched away, finally admitting through a half moan, “That's because …. because it is new! Its raw. Don't touch that rear port!”

Rearing back, the medic couldn't believe that. There was no upgrade that could successfully copy a fertile aft port. It was like giving a mech a femme spark. It wasn't possible. Femme sparks were just too dense. The same could be said about the programs for an aft port. They were just too ingrained to be copied properly.

Ratchet, somehow keeping his fingers in the other to finish his scans, couldn't help but bark, “What do you mean?! What did you do to yourself, Sentinel?”

“Myself!” barked Sentinel, sitting up somewhat only to moan a nano-sec later and flop back down as his valve squeezed at the fingers in his main valve due to the sudden change in position. “Th-those crazy femmes did this!”

Sentinel's words were then cut off, his valve squeezing again. He had to pant for moment before he growled, “T-they said to see the All-Mother, their creator, I had to be one of them. I thought if was a baptism or something fraggen stupid, but there was a pool and … FeMe Sigma … and these orbs … I came out of the tunnel with those things in my chassis and that s-second port!”

He was all but sniveling at this point in distress. The blue mech, completely disregarded the fingers still inside him as a scan continued to arouse his inner folds, and was suddenly sitting up and throwing his arms around the medic. He had meant to cry on the older mech's shoulder, but the shift caused those old knowing fingers to press even deeper into him, part of a third finger accidentally sliding in due to the slippery mess. So, instead of bawling on the older mech's shoulder, Sentinel felt himself come. He actually whined, valve coming lazily around Ratchet's digits. Sentinel immediate burying his helm between the healer's shoulder and neck in complete horror and embarrassment. It was made even worse as his hips instinctively rode those fingers a few times as he suffered through the lazy orgasm. Then, if Sentinel didn't want to die enough right then and there, he felt an explosion of liquid drip all over the medic's hand.

Ratchet, knowing a full breakdown was going to happen if he didn't say something, immediately started rubbing the young mech's back with his spare hand. “Shhh, there kid. That was natural. This, what's happening to you, its natural. No need to cry.”

Sentinel, whining into the medic's shoulder, hiccuped. “But … I don't … I don't want to be one step below a femme! I don't like crying. I don't want to be married off to some handsy Senator. I didn't even want this crappy job to begin with! I just didn't want to be Optimus' b-bitch! Everyone in those colonies is a bunch-bunch of p-perverts!”

He was all but bawling at his point, whole form shivering against Ratchet's body. “Please don't tell! I can't have this in my medical report. It will … it will ruin me!”

Sighing, still patting the young mech on the back, Ratchet cooed to him, “Shhh, calm down kid. Its just your systems running haywire. Take a few vents. I'll … I'll see what I can omit. Let's just … drain those pouches and salve that rear port. Okay. Then we'll get some sedatives for the next few solar-cycles for you and a valve plug. Come on, just lie back down.”

Reluctantly, Sentinel did just that. The next groon was much the same as Ratchet examined him. Sentinel squirmed and whined and … came around his prying yet professional fingers. The couch was soaking wet by the time Ratchet was done.

He wouldn't lie … it had been arousing to watch that young fertile frame come for him even if it wasn't purposefully.

And though Ratchet hated himself for it, as soon as he got home, he couldn't contain himself anymore. He had popped open his cod piece, his spike coming out tight from from being inflate for almost a groon. He had been arouse since he unintentionally got an orgasm out of that young frame, especially after he stuck a finger in that little aft port to check it. Such a tight little hole. Sentinel hadn't help the situation, squirming and whimpering as he did like a first time femme.

Frag, the kid's systems were rearing to go. Not uncommon for a shedding valve. A good fragging helped it shed faster after all. And it wanted Ratchet's length in it.

Ratchet had never even imaged Sentinel in that way, but now it was all he could imagine. That fertile valve and rear port, just twitching and squeezing around his fingers like hungry little mouths wanting a nub. And those feeding pouches. Frag, how he wished he could have suckled them with his mouth instead of professionally draining them with a small pump. He wished he could have tasted that sweet energon.

Barely getting a few feet into his habitat suite, Ratchet fell to his knees, taking his spike in hand. He was moaning before he even hand it in hand, now pumping his fat tool. Just because he was from the war, didn't make him old. Most of the Senators were his age after all. He was still prime age for siring sparklings, and honestly … that was all he could think right now.

He imaged Sentinel laying in his berth, blubbering that he was scared. Ratchet was telling him not to be, spreading those thighs and positioning himself between them. He would then poke at the entrance with his proud member, shushing Sentinel's babbling. He would then press in and feel that heat. He would make him moan. He would make him come again and again, until tears of pleasure instead of fear and embarrassment escaped the young-bot. He would then flipped the Prime over and take him from behind, pressing slowly into that rear port. Sentinel would yip and whine as he was stretched for the first time in his rear port … crying the medic's name.

Ratchet came quick and fast. He was only jacking off for about five kliks. He was just so hot and heavy he couldn't drag it out, nanties spraying all over the kitchen floor like a silver river as he moaned in abandon. Venting, panting, Ratchet continued to kneel there as his spike slowly deflated, its load spent.

Frag, that was hot. He had never thought of Sentinel in that way, but now he kind of … wanted it. He wanted that mech below him, but how could he even manage that? Sentinel valued titles. He would have to be ... a Senator.

It was then that Ratchet had an idea. One planted by Optimus a few orns ago, and, in the future, he would completely blame this on Optimus.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Ratchet … I don't regret this. You deserve that young aft. Yeah, I want to see that. In fact, we will probably be seeing that. May take a little while, but I can't wait for that. :3


	6. The Political Intrigue of Old Mechs

Ratchet had been a busy beetle or however Sari said it. She would always giggle at Bumblebee when she would say it, but Ratchet still didn't understand what a beetle had to do with Bumblebee. Not that he much cared, but he had bigger worries. Like getting that open Senate seat.

He swore that he had just inquired with Optimus two solar-cycles ago in the cafeteria about any seats being open in the senate. Optimus had been ecstatic. Obviously, he was glad that Ratchet would be getting out of the dangerous active field at his age and that he would have an ally in the Senate. Maybe even a member to his future cabinet if he became Magnus. Now, as if someone overheard, Ratchet was receiving a private summons from Alpha Trion. Ratchet honestly didn't know much about the mech except that he was ancient, antediluvian even. Even when he was a young-bot,this mech had been around. Alpha Trion didn't make many public appearances though he always had a chair in the senate and was considered part of the Magnus' private cabinet.

Basically, when the old fragger spoke, as senile as he may be at this point, mechs listened.

After all, there was a rumor that the ancient politician had glimpses of the multi-verse. Apparently, he always had this smile on his face when he spoke to mechs he met. It was as if he had seen all the lives you had lived before … and knew your repeatable fate. To break off from that path would gather his attention, and Ratchet couldn't help but wonder if that was what was currently happening to him.

Was if because he was now interested in the Senate? Was he breaking off from his usual fate by doing so? And if so, was it because he was taking a political more than medical interest in a the well being of mechs or was it because of … Sentinel?

Personally, he would say it was the latter. Even he himself couldn't believe he was interested in the blue Prime.

What could he say? He just couldn't get the young-bot out of his CPU. The young fragger had a mouth on him, true, but so did Ratchet. He could give as well as he could take. Plus, he couldn't get over how that young fertile form had reacted so positively to his professional touches the first nor second time. He had checked on the blue Prime once more to make sure he was ready to go back to work. Sentinel had all but stopped bleeding at this point, a port plug barely needed to keep the last of drippings out of his cod piece. The valve shouldn't have been as sensitive as the first time he had checked it. If anything, it should have been back to normal, but placing his hand between those lush thighs, trying to ignore the hardening of his own spike behind his cod piece, Sentinel had came barely two klicks into the exam. The blue Prime had gasped and withered, optics going white for a moment before lube gushed out of the healthy form and all over Ratchet's scanning hands.

The Elite Guard had immediately been mortified. He had even started clicking, asking what was wrong with him? He had come from Ratchet's touch alone.

Ratchet had comforted the younger mech, of course, telling him it was normal to be easily aroused during the shedding of his port. And Ratchet wouldn't lie to himself, he had held that mech close in a warm embrace if only so he could touch him, hungry and wanting to touch Sentinel in so many other ways. He wished he could have held that young form as it wept for other reasons … like from pleasure as he pressed his spike deeper and deeper into fertile ports.

Regardless, Ratchet hadn't yet decided when to officially start courting Sentinel Prime. He knew that being a Senator wasn't exactly required to try and court the young mech, but he knew it would be harder for the young mech to disregard his advances if he had a title backing him up. Sentinel honestly respected political power to a point of stupidity. Perhaps that was why Ultra Magnus had given him the current position he was in.

Stupid young-bot was going to get himself killed out there. Though, honestly, Ratchet didn't want to sound cruel, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was best that Sentinel had gotten a fertile aft port. He had no place being Magnus though he would probably make a decent carrier. He had heard from Jazz that Sentinel dotted on the jet twins when he didn't think anyone was looking.

What Sentinel just didn't understand was … Just because a mech had power didn't always make him right. Ratchet had promised to drag that ideal with him into the senate as well as a drive to destroy the slowly encroaching Functionalist mindset that was trying to gain political power in the senate. A mech shouldn't be defined by the alt form he was born with. A mech should decide who he wanted to be. That was like telling Bulkhead that he couldn't fix space-bridges just because his creator worked on an energon farmer. It was barbaric, and though he would never openly admit it, he did acknowledge why Megatron became the monster he was … and the Functionalists were already dangerously close to what Megatron fought so hard against.

Ratchet could not watch another Megatron rise to power, especially not when he had a voice.

When he had merely been part of a no name space-bridge repair crew, he had almost accepted that things were bound to repeat themselves. He had no voice. Who would listen to an old bot object to a steadily growing viewpoint in senate, especially when he used Megatron's rise to power as a basis for his argument. Well, they would call him a traitor for one. Now though ... He was a war hero. He was also the voice behind Optimus Prime, the next Magnus.

He had a voice now to save young-bots from themselves, just like Sentinel. The young-bot really was going to get himself slagged out there by throwing himself at unknown colonies without even forming a crew. It wasn't wise for him to be going alone … especially not in his delicate condition. Ratchet didn't want to disregard Sentinel's battle prowess for he hadn't become an Elite Garud for nothing, but being so fertile … mechs were bound to try and take advantage of him.

Shaking his head, wondering when he had become so worried about Sentinel, he stalled in the doorway to the grand archives. Everyone knew that Alpha Trion resided in this place, with the Iacon Records, reading languages that barely time remembered.

Slowly coming before an old large mech with a magnificent beard, Ratchet stated in a straightforward way, “What did you want old mech? I had plans this afternoon.”

Such plans included decided on a departing gift for Sentinel for his next mission. He wanted to start giving the other mech small courting gifts, even if Sentinel didn't see it that way. Maybe a small repair kit or a wax towel … or mace. Nothing too obvious, but enough to start and slowly gain the young-bot's attention. Then again he could be _daring_. There was an old joke about giving mech's silk panties.

Ratchet couldn't help but smile to himself at the thought of asking Sumdac on Earth if he could special order a giant pair of silk panties for his love interest. He could just see the scientist blush … and Sentinel's blush for that matter.

“Happy thoughts I take it?” said the old mech not looking up from his metallic tomes. Most files were kept on digi-pads nowadays, but the really really old documents were bound as metal sheets. They were fraggen heavy to carry around which is probably why they weren't made anymore.

Decided to get straight to the point, Ratchet waved off the question. “What do you want Alpha Trion? I have plans today.”

The old mech couldn't help but chuckle as he leaned into his book lazy, smiling almost wickedly as his reading glasses hung on his nose.

Looking at that lecherous grin, Ratchet couldn't help but wonder how a mech could be old as space dust and yet seem so young and spry.

As if reading the younger mech's thoughts, Alpha Trion stated simply, “Ah, straight to the point. I wish more Senators were that way. Everyone would certainly get home sooner … and as for your second question, a young body in my bed keep me spry. Don't you agree Ratchet?”

Ratchet immediately balked, flabbergast. How was she supposed to comment to that? He could find no words. Did Alpha Trion really know about his interest in Sentinel or was he saying he wanted Sentinel?

“Oh, calm down,” answered the older mech, “And sit. How could I not know? You are practically skipping around the place buffed to the point of blinding others. Some young-bot has obviously caught your optic, yes?”

Siting down stiffly, Ratchet still felt somewhat defensive. “And what's it matter to you?”

Tilting his head, his long metallic beard dragging across his metallic book, the old mech smiled. “It matters more than you know.”

For a moment, a silence dragged over the room before the old mech continued.

“As I am sure you are aware, some say I have glimpses into the multi-verse,” said the bearded mech before he leaned in and almost whispered, “Would you like to know something I know Ratchet?”

Despite himself, knowing that somethings were just best left alone, Ratchet slowly nodded like a dumb young-bot. He was too curious to say no.

Smiling, intertwining his fingers, Alpha Trion stared at the ancient tome before him and the gilded blue figure painted there. “Did you know that the name Sentinel Prime is not a lucky one? It is followed by sorrow and misery . It is also, generally, the marker for the end of a golden age. I do not wish to sound cruel, but it was best that his time as Magnus was brief and met with ill-love.”

Ratchet, despite lusting after the young mech, couldn't help but solemnly nod his head in agreement. It was true, Sentinel was not cut out for leadership of that magnitude if any at all. He needed a mech to take control of him … preferably in the berth.

“I know that our Sentinel Prime is not the same as the ones in these books, in these memories between the universes,” said Trion as he traced a blue figure that was apparently being ripped apart by a … miner? The text was in a dialect Ratchet couldn't even start to comprehend though, “But I worry that his fate may still try to press itself onto us. I worry that someone powerful will try to dig their claws into him and manipulated him like in so many lives before. I fear in the darkness of space something will latch onto our Sentinel Prime in much the same way … and thus will end our new gold age.”

Sitting back, mouth in a grim line as he looked at his glossy fingers, Ratchet huffed out of his vents and asked, “Well, what will we do? He's dead set on those treaties. Optimus said he wouldn't even consider a different position … You don't want us to kill or imprison a young mech for something he hasn't or might not even do yet.”

Nodding, turning to the next page which was surprisingly blank, the older mech added, “Yes, I agree. Not all Optimus' are good after all, but there is something that could ignore all of this. Something that might even earn you a seat in the senate.”

Feeling nervous, like he was speaking with Unicron himself and making a deal with him, Ratchet asked carefully, “And what would that be?”

Smiling wickedly the old mech almost purred as he placed what looked like a gift before Ratchet, “Nothing that you aren't already thinking about Ratchet … I think Sentinel Prime would be a great carrier as well … though he may need some _encouragement_. So, here's a gift from _you_ to _him_. If you catch my drift.”

Ratchet, daring to open the gift, was surprised to see a golden high-quality polishing rag in the bottom of the box. It wasn't silk panties or a false spike or something equally pervy. It was honestly quite thoughtful. Perfect even. He almost wished he had thought of it.

Ratchet could only nod in thanks.

Alpha Trion picked up a soldering tool and started on the empty page, adding as he waved Ratchet away, “Glad you approve. I promise it is best to start with his vanity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Everyone seemed to like the Ratchet introduction so he's getting a short chapter here. Mostly politics, which I suck at, and just a hint of smut, but the next update will definitely be the usual smut chapter. We are going to see who Ratchet's competition is going to be after all… any guesses? :3
> 
> Also, my mind now sees Alpha Trion as a robotic Gandalf the Grey. He's just more colorful … and pervy. XD
> 
> Furthermore, plot, when did you get here?! Well, I suppose you can stay.


	7. A Bountiful Bounty Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lazy proofread is lazy. Going to bed. :P

Sentinel moaned as he looked at his private messages.

Not _another_ one.

How did they keep getting his private email? He really wanted to know. Then again, did he really want to know? All he honestly had to know was that the femmes from Faya were crazy. Completely off their rockers. Highrise, especially, would not let him be. She really wanted … more of his mech fluids.

The Prime shuddered at the thought, CPU wandering back to the big breeder jet in the hospital. Would they have done the same thing to him? Would they fuck him into oblivion? Part of his mind, like any mech, would love that. Part of him would love pleasuring countless femmes for vorns to come, but after a while … wouldn't it grow agonizing ? Wouldn't seeing sparklings run by giggling rip into you? Would he always be asking himself if that little femme was his?

And what of the sons? What happened to them?

Were they doomed to end up like their sire?

Or were there none at all? He didn't know the birth rate for mechs that came from Faya femmes, but even if it was oddly low, there had to be some. Right?

Then again ...

Swallowing, disliking that train of thought along with the memory of the large mech and his sad optics, Sentinel deleted the private message. The treaty with Faya was weak at best, but it was still there. More mechs would visit, probably, fulfilling the femmes' demands. Maybe it would then offer a way for the jet to be freed. He knew that the jet was likely a Con since he was a flier, but … Sentinel was an Autobot so sympathy would always be part of his nature. Usually … Mostly … okay, Sentinel knew he could sometimes be a jerk, but even he wasn't that sparkless.

Sighing, Sentinel promised to discretely look into this Skyfire character. Maybe he could find a way to help the mech without stepping foot on Faya again. It wasn't that he was scared of the femmes, but if he stepped ped on planet and found a sparkling that looked just like him … Well, being shocked would be the least of his problems.

Nearly jumping out of his armor when there was a knock on his door, Sentinel rose to his peds and went to his suite's door.

He nearly sighed with relief when he saw two helms peering at his door comm's lense. He thought it was Optimus … again. Ever since he had been sick and Ratchet had come to treat him (despite himself his valve twinged in remembrance of how those practice fingers had spread his valve's folds and made him come so easily), Optimus had stopped to see him repeatedly. It was as if that moment of vulnerability had turned on a switch, a reminder that Sentinel was only mortal. Which, honestly just pissed Sentinel off. He still hadn't forgotten Optimus' little outburst during the last treaty meeting:

_'Magnus … I think, for future treaties, Sentinel Prime should be given a security detail.'_

Primus, Optimus had just blurted it out in the middle of the meeting, like he had been convinced by one bot or another that Sentinel now needed protection. He was an elite! He didn't need protection. Nope. Just because he had sensitive ports and feeding pouches femmes would envy didn't mean he couldn't protect himself.

Plus … he didn't need anyone else knowing how often he got fucked over in the unknown zones. _Literally_.

“Mr. Sentinel Prime, sir! We's being here to see you off!” came a unison cry from the other side of the door as if they knew he was standing there.

Sighing, he opened the door and looked down at the two fliers. Both, as usually, were grinning up at him like children. For some reason, his feeding pouches even binged at him, asking if they should start filling. He immediately shut the program down, wondering why it even tried to come online at the sight of the two young mechs.

Okay, yes, they were still wards of the military and he acted like their guardian while as Magnus' second. That didn't mean he was their creator and he didn't have to feed them.

F-frag. Where had that thought even come from.

Wanting to slam the door in mortification, hating his new systems more and more for the ideas they were trying to plant in is helm, he tried to act normal. So … He frowned down at the two young-mechs.

“What are you two doing here? I told them that I don't need a security detail,” he groused, the young fliers basically blocking his way … though one growl from his engine made them part. That didn't mean they left though … they actually started following him, asking about his upcoming treaty.

They even followed him all the way to his ship in the port, yammering on about how they wanted to get off planet and fly around in unknown skies and, “Making sure you are safe Mr. Prime, sir.”

Sentinel stalled in the entrance of his ship and looked down at the two little fliers. His words almost biting. “No, you are not coming with me.”

Besides, if he was getting molested almost every trip out, he didn't want two young mechs forced into that. The both had their seals and likely didn't even know what fagging was yet … which was kind of sad given that they knew how to fight like an adult, but were still wards of the military.

Poor babes shouldn't even leave the planet.

Again his feeding pouches pinged at him and tried to fill. No! No! No! He was not feeding anybot _ever_ with those!

Turning to his ship's entrance, the door pinged open and he stepped into the small control room, only to stall … The ship was small and at most it could house a four mech crew . Thus, it was impossible not to notice the box on the console, a small ribbon on top.

What … was that? That … shiny paper, the manner of the knot … He had never received one personally, but was that a c-courting gift. No. No. It couldn't be. Who would? Why? What?!

The jet twins, not noticing Sentinel's shock, seemed to speak in his stead. Thinking the worst.

“What being that Mr. Prime, sir? Is it being gift for future meeting?” said Jetstorm.

“No, me be thinking its a bomb,” said Jetfire.

“A bomb!? No brother!”

“Yes, a bomb, brother. Sentinel is important peace-mech now. Peoples be trying to assassinate him.”

“Shouldn't we be calling Jazz, brother? We cannot diffuse bomb.”

“No, we cannot.”

Sentinel, still flabbergast that there was an actual courting gift in his ship, finally was knocked out of his stupor when the twins started calling Jazz.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Don't call Jazz-”

Jetfire was too fast. “Jazz sir! Someone being trying to assassinate Mr. Sentinel Prime sir.”

Jetstorm, pressing his cheek against his brother's, cried his own reply into the comm link so Jazz could hear him. “There's a box! Its a bomb, sir, we are sure!”

Sentinel groaned almost immediately as he heard Jazz cry affirmative and something about: _you little dudes getting SP out of there_. The Prime, blush forming on his face as he thought of Jazz seeing a courtship gift and then telling everyone, stomped forward. He ignored the young fliers' outcry as they both tried to grab his legs.

“Sentinel Prime, sir. No! You be staying away! We are supposed to be protecting you!” cried one of the brothers as he held onto the blue leg.

“Yes, sir! We must be protecting you!” added the other.

Blush growing, not only embarrassed but mortified because the twins thought they had to protect him, an elite, he stomped even harder into the ship. He didn't even get within touching distance though when suddenly there was the roar of a powerful engine outside.

Oh no, oh no! He … had … to … grab … and … hide … gift … before … Jazz!

“SP, little dudes! Why are you still in here?!” cried Jazz as he squealed into the ship, barely finishing his transformation sequence before he was almost tugged Sentinel out of the door, fliers still attached to the larger mech's legs.

Sentinel, valiantly, tried to keep his footing, but Jazz wouldn't be dissuaded when he thought one of his friends was in trouble. So, powerful engine growling, he pushed the bigger bot behind him, shielding Sentinel with his body … only to stall.

The moment of silence was like a stab in the spark, especially when Jazz stepped forward and picked up the silver box with a golden bow, his visor lighting up. He, like Sentinel, had seen the etchings on the package. The etchings were reminiscent of those Conjunx Endura got carved into their helms or hands. In fact, the more gifts a mech or femme received, the more glyphs that would be filled out until it actually spelled Conjunx Endura. Then, if the gifts were being accepted, the name of the interested party would come with the last gift … Generally, in person.

Jazz turned around, EM field almost aglow. “SP, is this what I-”

“No, it is not!” interrupted Sentinel, finally squirming free of the jet twins and grabbing the box. He then looked around for a place to hide the thing, only to notice all his exits had been blocked by underlings. He couldn't help but cring away from Jazz though.

Jazz's smile was so broad it was eating away at his face. “Now, mech, no need to be embarrassed. This is a good thing. A bit old fashion, but nothing wrong with that … So, any idea who its from?”

Sentinel immediately blushed, almost frightened to know who it was from. What if it was from High Rise? What if it was full of panties? Ones with a hole cut in them right over the valve? It was too small to be a dress, but it was big enough for an aft vibrator. Oh no, no, no, no! He had to get rid of this thing.

Jazz, as if catching onto Sentinel's inner panic, snatched the box from him. “No need to be nervous SP. It looks like its the first gift. Besides, accepting them don't bind you to the giver. It just shows you are willing to get a few more. Its the last gift you have to say no too.”

Jazz chuckled at that and Sentinel glared. The last gift really wasn't a gift at all. It was usually a spike or spark wrapped in a bow … it depended how traditional the pair was. Nonetheless, he was not amused. Jetfire and Jetstorm, of course, seemed to latch right onto the joke though. If it was possible, Sentinel blushed even harder.

“What being the last gift and why would you not want it Sentinel Prime sir? Is it not tasty or is it too hard like old JaAm?” asked Jetstorm, him and his brother looking right at the blue mech.

Jazz … nearly burst a line struggling to hold in his laughter.

Waving it off, Sentinel ignored them. He was not going to be the one to give them the talk. He was sure they had an idea of what fragging was given they were around military mechs all day, but he wasn't doing it nonetheless.

“Give me the box, Jazz. I am leaving it outside,” he grumbled, reaching for the box.

Jazz, ninja-bot that he was, merely sidestepped the grab. “Oh, come now, SP. Don't crush a romantic's spark. At least open the box.”

“No,” he growled, stepping around the jet twins as he tried to block Jazz in.

Jazz, without missing a beat, just danced around the bot, smiling. “Oh come on, SP. I will open it for you if you are scared.”

Engine catching, the larger bot nearly tripped, voice squeaking, “I am not scared!”

“No need to be flustered, SP. Things like these can be terrifying, in a way. Come on, just open this one and-”

Sentinel, unable to watch Jazz pluck the bow again as if he was about to start opening it, found himself lurching forward. He all but tripped on one of the Jet twins though and fell into Jazz instead. The smaller mech's squeal was almost comical as everyone seemed to go down into a pile of bodies and surprised yelps. This, of course, had the opposite outcome than Sentinel wanted … because Jazz's finger's had been on the bow … ripping the bow off and flinging the lid away as everyone went down.

Everyone, despite being crushed by one limb or another, all turned to see what it was … Sentinel didn't even know if he should cry or laugh. It wasn't frilly panties … It was nothing more than a golden polishing rag, Sentinel's glyphs embroidered in one corner. Sitting up, ignoring the way Jazz was awkwardly in his lap while one of the twins was over his shoulder, Sentinel picked up the golden piece of fabric and just looked at it.

It was … it was nice. Thoughtful even. He had always liked waxing himself, being a clean freak and organic-phob he was. He admitted it. It was of nice quality. It was a safe gift and in all honestly, given that everything had been anything but safe and predictable lately … this item calmed him somewhat. It was plain. Whoever gave this to him probably wasn't some freak from some forgotten colony. He or she was probably just a regular bot. A mech most likely which he really wasn't falling over himself for, but … it was still nice.

“I take it you like it?” came Jazz's voice, cool as a cat and twice as smug.

Turning away from the gift, he looked at the lap full of ninja-bot he had, his glare hard set. “What are you doing in my lap?”

Shrugging his shoulders, finding the whole event all to amusing especially since SP wasn't exactly his superior anymore, Jazz admitted. “Can't help where a bot fell, SP.”

Subspacing the golden fabric, the blue Prime grumbled, “Get off my ship Jazz … I'm leaving now.”

“B-but SP. Magnus hasn't cleared us for guard duty yet. You can't go out there alone,” said Jazz. He had honestly sent the twins as a stalling tool and he still didn't know how it had gotten to his adorably awkward situation, but Sentinel couldn't leave without a security detail.

That didn't stop the Prime from nearly throwing him out though.

“I am and I will. Out … now.”

…

Lockdown stared at the screen. He still couldn't believe what he was hearing. True, he dealt with retrieval missions before, but said bounty was usually wanted dead or alive. Not something … not something so lewd. Not that he really minded. Ever since Megatron had been defeated, more and more ports were joining the Autobot Commonwealth and he was entirely _not_ welcome. He knew if this kept up he would soon have a bounty on his own head and despite what everyone thought... There were Autobot bounty hunters.

He rolled his optics as he thought of the samurai bot, Drift.

He could take him … unless he teamed up with Fracture again. He swore those two had something going on between them.

“Are you sure they don't want me to just ... catch the whole bot?” said Lockdown as he reclined slightly in his chair before the console. The only light in the room was the computer screen and the glow of the bounty hunter's optics.

Swindle, the middle mech in this transaction, shrugged, “You know politics. A certain mech goes missing, a treaty falls apart … nobots happy but the smuggler. Not that I would step ped on that planet.”

Lockdown, despite himself, nodded. Everymech in the outer colonies knew the reputation of planet Faya … and to steer clear of it. Those femmes were crazy.

“Either you do this and do it discretely or I might have to get someone else … like Saberhorn,” said Swindle almost coyly, his grin dragging across his face.

Lockdown huffed out of his vents, looking almost bored as he groused. “That pompous beetle? Only thinks of his _sword_ and where he can stick it. He couldn't finish a job if his spark depended on it.”

Swindle chucked slightly at the mech's assumptions, intertwining his fingers, his purple optics aglow as he continued, “Still sore about that bounty hunter? He got the femme and he got away, didn't he?”

Lockdown huffed. He didn't care much about the femme. She had been a relatively small bounty, but Saberhorn had some nice trophies. Those two swords would have looked magnificent in his collection. Honestly, the mech would have looked magnificent in his berth too … What could he say? He had a thing for pigheaded mechs that really didn't want to bottom for anyone. Basically, forcing those cocky fraggers onto their bellies with there afts in the air was a real turn on for him.

And afts. He was an aft mech. He wouldn't even deny it.

“Only because that boy in blue wouldn't stop chasing me. Persistent little copper,” chuckled the bounty hunter, his voice deep and resonating as it echoed off of the walls. Smirking, he couldn't help but recall his little pursuer. He had an ongoing tango with the little enforcer. Mech called himself Chase. And he didn't know if he had an officer fetish or not given his want of Prowl … but that cop-bot had a fine aft.

A fine aft indeed.

Like another blue mech that had refused to bottom out for him: Sentinel Prime.

It had been a pleasure working with the blue Prime while on Earth … mostly because he had loved making the younger mech squirm when he was _oh so forwardly_ flirted with him during every transaction. He had even mentioned discounts for …. favors. And in all honestly, the only reason he had given into Ramjet was because Sentinel had shot him down a little to _harshly_.

He hated it when one got away … but, it seemed it was just a matter of time. When Lockdown wanted aft, he got it. He would taste that mech's valve when they met again. He wanted to see all of that Prime's pride simmer into nothing as the Autobot gave into frothing begging while Lockdown made him come, spilling into him over and over again.

Oh yes, before he was done, Sentinel would cry his name.

Smiling at the thought of taking a different type of trophy from the blue Prime, he smirked at Swindle, matching the business-mech's crude grin. “Then again, me and Sentinel have some catching up to do. I'll take the job.”

Leaning in, the light from the screen illuminating his face in almost a gruesome manner, the bounty hunter chuckled darkly, “Now, tell me again about all the gory details to this little … uh … genetic collection. I might just be able to jack off to it.”

…

“Sentinel! Come back here, right now,” said Optimus, trying to be assertive yet failing miserably as his plating tried to puff up. “Magnus is still deciding your guard detail. You just can't … leave the planet.”

Sentinel, sitting in his small ship's cockpit, already through one space-bridge, stared at Optimus with almost a bored expression before he learned forward and snidely replied. “I have a job to do, Optimus. I don't know about you, just sitting around, but Magnus never directly informed me that I was to wait for a detail to be assigned. In fact, as with the last missions, I am going to prove that I am completely capable on my own and that I don't need one.”

Optimus gaped, almost stunned for a moment before he floundered for something to say. It had been a long time since he had had a real argument with Sentinel and he was sadly out of practice. Meanwhile, Sentinel was acting like this was an everyday occurrence, almost relaxed with the vocal dispute.

“He obviously shouldn't have had to give a direct command. It was unanimous during the meeting. You need a security detail. Your ship came home mauled; you got lost in a swamp; and communications even caught wind that someone put a bounty on your head in the lost colonies. You need to come back.”

Trying not to react to Optimus' last point, part of him just knowing it was the femmes of Faya, he waved it off, “Oh come on, Optimus. I was an Elite Guard. I can handle myself. I don't need your help.”

Optimus stood there a moment, frowning until realization seemed to dawn on his face. He almost laughed. “Oh, wait, wait. I don't know how I didn't see it before … its not because someone suggested you need protection and help on the field. Its because _I_ was the one that suggest it, isn't it?”

“WHAT!” cried Sentinel, nearly falling out of his chair as the truth punched him in the gut. “That … that isn't right.”

Crossing his arms, smiling almost smugly, the other Prime continued. “Oh, yes it is. Now, come on Sentinel. Bitterness or jealousy are not reason to put your safety at risk.”

Suddenly standing up, pointing at the console as if he was poking Optimus in the chassis, Sentinel tried to keep from foaming at the mouth. “Now, listen here. Perfect, goody-goody suck-”

BANG! DU-DANG!

They both jumped at the sudden noise, both sets of optics going almost comically large as they both tried to look up at Sentinel's ceiling. It had sounded like it had come from the small ship's exterior. Like something had landed on top of it.

For a moment both of the mechs were quiet, waiting for the hull to rip open from an impact or something else equally disastrous. After an eternity of strained silence, Optimus was the first to ask, “What was that?”

Sentinel, immediately seeing that the proximity alarm was starting to go off, muted the ship's computer with a harsh jab that Optimus couldn't miss … even if he couldn't see the buttons.

“Did you just push off the proximity alarm?” said Optimus, his face covered in horrified suprise.

Pushing a few more buttons, he tried to see if one of the ship's exterior cameras (a whole whopping four) could catch whatever was apparently latching onto the hull. Trying not to act nervous, knowing far to well there were pirates in the colonies, huffed his vents and lied badly, “What? No. No. I have no idea what you are talking about. Its just normal … turbulence.”

Optimus looked shocked. “You have got to be joking.”

Sentinel, trying not to tap at the console in terror, tried not to curse as something took out one of his ship's cameras. Frag. Frag. FRAG! This was all Optimus' fault. If he wasn't distracting him!

“I'm not laughing Optimus. So now if you are done being a nanny-bot...” added the blue mech, praying the other mech would hang up so he could properly panic about this ... He refused to allow Optimus know his ship was being attacked … again.

“Sentinel, stop being a proud … _AFT_. There, I said it. You are being a fraggen aft! Now tell me whats going on with the ship. Even I can see you typing away at the console frantically.”

He wasn't frantic! He wasn't! No, no, no! There went another camera!

Sentinel, floundering, puffed up in the face like a blowfish or pouting youngling. His mouth even gaped like a fish out of water until he was able to blurt out. “Well … well … at least I don't have a porn face!”

He knew it was childish. He knew the whole mission was basically just a childish trope to keep from being Optimus' underling and that Optimus had every right to be concerned about him, but he didn't want to end up being Optimus' subordinate … he … he didn't know what he wanted anymore. Hero or not, but he didn't want that.

Optimus, rearing back, didn't even notice that Cliffjumper had walked into the communication hub about five kliks ago, files in hand but unable to do anything but watch as two old-friends turned semi-enstranged enemies tried to banter about their problems without really talking about their problems.

Resisting the urge to cover his pouty lips, Optimus moved his lips a few times before he blurted out. “Well … well. At least I don't have slut-aft!”

Sentinel stepped back as if shot, almost forgetting something was latching onto his ship as his hands instinctively went to cover his aft. Optimus had promised, _promised_ to never make fun of his aft like … just like he had sworn never insult his lips again.

Well, he broke their training days promise first!

“What! I-I do not! Well .. you have porn lips! Yeah! _Yeah_ , porn lips!”

Optimus stuttered back this time. “I-I don't have porn lips! My lips are just fine!”

Sentinel meanwhile had had started making rude hand gestures. He was pointing at Optimus and making signs that obviously were meant to represent a blow job, hand pumping at nothing in front of his face as he used his glossa to bulge his cheek to the side … as if he had a mouth full of spike.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Sentinel, basking in his old friend's horrified silence while stalling in his fake blow job. “Did you say something? I couldn't hear you over the sound of you sucking spike with your huge porn lips.”

Shocked silence shot down quickly, Optimus turned to the side and lewdly bent over, shaking his aft before slapping it.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he countered. “Did you say something?! I couldn't hear over the sounds of you bending over and taking it in the aft port like a slutty pleasure bot! That's how you like it, don't you slut-aft?!”

“I do not!” cried Sentinel, getting flustered … mostly because his aft-port had just clenched … loving the idea of a fat spike prodding deep into it. Slag? Was he really an aft-port slut? Was he going to crave it? Primus that would be horrible.

Optimus, meanwhile, had grabbed a chair and was was bending over it. His aft was bouncing up and down, in and out as he made lewd _ugghh, ughgh, uggh_ noises followed by, “Oh yes, right in the aft-port.”

Meanwhile, behind Optimus, Jazz had walked in behind Cliffjumper, mouth slightly gaped. He had secretly wondered if someone like Optimus hadn't left the courting gift … Now. Now he knew it wasn't Optimus. Nope. Those two were something, but it wasn't pining lovers.

Looking down at the shorter red mech then back at Optimus as he made a lewd aft show while Sentinel pretended to take spike in his mouth, Jazz asked, “CJ … please tell me you are recording this.”

Optic twitching at the CJ nickname, the smaller bot decided to ignore it, stating simply, “Yes, Yes I am.”

“I'll be wanting a copy of that. Thank you,” chuckled the white bot before he put out a fist. Cliffjumper stared at it for a moment out of the corner of his optics before promptly fist-bumping it. There was nothing like having blackmail on your superiors. Nothing like it at all.

They were going to get away with murder.

“I bet you have mouth upgrades so you can suck harder!” screamed Sentinel, trying to be heard over Optimus' fake sex moans.

Yet, just when Optimus opened his mouth to comment, Sentinel's background suddenly went black, the sound of the small ship's hum dying away while red emergency lights came on. The engine had turned off.

Sentinel could only look around in objective horror before he typed uselessly on the nearly dead console. He then turned his attention to the still running communication. “See what you did? Now I am on reserved power.”

Optimus, stalling in his slutty Sentinel impersonation, puffed up. “How is that my fault exactly? That's it. I'm sending someone to pick you up Sentinel. I have the authority to.”

“Ohhhh, no you don't,” countered Sentinel as if he cared little about being dead in space.

“Ohhhh yes, yes I do,” added Optimus.

“Nope,” battled Sentinel. “Not out here in the uncharted areas.”

“Ah yeah, yeah I do. I'm sending someone to haul you and your ship back,” grumbled Optimus as he started typing at his own console. He had to have someone close in the area.

Glaring, crossing his arm, Sentinel almost cheekily replied, “Yeah … if you could find me.”

Catching onto what was being said, the offline ship leaving it almost impossible to track unless a distress signal was onlined, Optimus leaned into the screen. “Don't you dare turn off this communication Sentinel. Don't you dare!”

“Sorry, b-b-breaking up can't hhhhhhear ddddirective,” said Sentinel, the screen suddenly shaking. Shaking … he was doing himself.

Optimus, about to demand he leave that communication alone, suddenly went stock still, “Sentinel! Sentinel! Wait! Stop! There's something-”

And the screen went dead, Optimus' next words echoing.

“ _-Behind you_!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not-sorry, for cliffhanger. This was a fun chapter to write. Honestly, the last part was great. Made me smile like an idiot writing it. Next chapter should be smutty though. Promise. I don't want you guys deprived after all. XD
> 
> As for Lockdown … yep, Ratchet's got competition. Mind you … Lockdown's is more of the kidnapping kind, but meh. Honestly, QuietShadow's Woe series is to blame for this two part chapter mostly. Always loved how she wrote Sentinel/Lockdown. Also, I threw in a hint of Lockdown/Chase in there because of a cute little fic called Catch Me, If you Can by noneofwords. It really stuck with me and is kind of my headcannon to what happened to Lockdown after Megatron's capture. So … Chase probably will be making an appearance. Also … some RID15 characters seem to be making background appearances. Saberhorn needs more love. :3


End file.
